Seeing Castiel's Bad Side
by Alika613
Summary: Castiel had the emotional span of primitive animal, he knew basic things that fell into either “good” or “bad.” Cas didn’t feel complex emotions, or so Dean thought, but sometimes Cas feels... Dean/Castiel, set after My Bloody Valentine.
1. Chapter 1

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

A/N: Set right after My Bloody Valentine. That was a hard episode to watch, right? I mean, Sam loses control, but in the end he still has enough of himself to go and save Dean, but then he has to go through withdrawal all over again. Man, what a crap fest, right?! And Dean's all emotionally broken and raw at the end. They need a lot of therapy, or love. Love is good, speaking of which, this is Dean/Castiel.

* * *

Sam wasn't around. In fact, he hadn't been around much. It had been a week since the freak valentine incident paired with the ravenous hunger and the Horseman. It had been three days since Sam had gone through detox. Since then he'd been wandering around town, dazed and avoidant whenever he was at the motel with Dean.

Dean barely thought about trying to get Sam to stick around. He had let him take the Impala without any time limit, any threats for bodily harm if it came back with a dent, didn't ask for any food either. He felt nauseous about it, but the truth is that Sam was like some mutt. He'd take off if someone he loved, Dean, struck him, but he would always come back sooner or later. Dean knew that Sam was in a dark place right now, full of self-hate and shame, but Dean was going through a dark place too.

The weird thing was that Castiel had disappeared too. Looking for God, or something, but more than that. A few times Dean had felt as though Cas was there, but by the time he turned around there was nothing. There was usually a charge that ran up his arms, and made every inch come to life. He suspected that the angel showed up a few times a day. Dean would clench his fists and whirl around as fast as he could, but never quick enough. One time he was sitting on the edge of his bed. His hands were in a knot in his lap, and his eyes looked blankly at the television screen. He felt the familiar warmth take over his body, it spread over his biceps and up his neck. He looked up at the screen and Castiel's reflection was clearly in it. His tan trench coat moved silently as he leaned over Dean's back slightly. His head was cocked in his signature confused look, and his lips were slightly parted. They moved, but Dean didn't hear a word. He yelled Cas's name, but once again the angel was gone by the time he managed to look.

The face that Castiel had outside of Sam's detoxification room, he'd looked at Dean only when he knew Dean wasn't looking back. When Dean walked outside and started to tear up, when he begged for help. He couldn't have been certain that Castiel hadn't heard him, but for some reason he suspected that if the angel had then he was in safe hands. Cas had the emotional span of primitive animal, he knew basic things that fell into either "satisfied" or "not satisfied." Stuff like need, want, don't like, feel bad, and every once in a while a sense of anger or frustration. Cas didn't feel complex things like shame, resentment, ecstasy or pity.

That was why it was okay to let Castiel watch. Dean couldn't be certain if he was watching, or listening to his thoughts, but even if he was it didn't matter. The one thing Dean didn't want anyone to feel for him was an emotion he thought to be too complex for the messenger of the Lord. _Pity. _If Cas couldn't feel pity for Dean, then the human didn't give a fuck what the angel saw and thought of him.

As long as no one pitied him.

Even if Castiel did magically appear around Dean, stared at the back of his head and always gone before Dean could get a sentence out. The reflection in the TV screen showed that Cas was confused, but not that he pitied Dean.

Jesus Christ he was fucking annoying! That was another thing Dean would have to ask Castiel one day, whether or not God actually had a son. He doubted Cas would answer though, he was too vague. Half the time he didn't say anything, the other half what he said barely skimmed the complexity of some matters. He should just come on up, say what he meant, and mean what he said. Then they could be done with the stupid game of mysterious angel.

Dean hadn't considered how angry (whether or not Cas would express his emotions was another matter) Castiel would feel when he was caught. Since Cas had lost his grace he was weaker than when he'd first appeared in the barn with light bulbs blowing out overhead. Being weaker, he was easier to catch. The seal that Dean had drawn on the underside of the motel mattress was designed to hold an array of powerful non-humans. He wasn't certain it would hold Cas, and he felt slightly stupid standing in the bathroom dragging a knife across his forearm. He painted the symbol in his own blood. Maybe if the seal didn't hold him, Cas would at least stick around out of curiosity as to why Dean would go so far to capture him.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed and waited. He stared at the blank TV, prepared to see at any moment the reflection of the angel. He considered what he would ask Castiel when he finally saw him.

It wasn't long before Cas had his reflection across the blank TV. Dean could feel the heat, up his arms, over his collar bone, swiftly up his neck and then down his back. He watched as the image of him flickered, a sound like tin foil crunching as he flitted in and out of the room. Finally it stopped, Cas standing still and no longer attempting to get away. He looked into the TV screen, their eyes meeting there.

Dean stood up, breathed deeply and then turned around. He had an eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth cocked up as he looked at the angel.

"Release me." Castiel said it in his straightforward, do-not-disobey-me voice. His eyes were narrowed, the soft blue almost invisible. He was kneeling on the middle of the bed, but the mattress didn't yield under his weight. It was as though he was floating, or not really there.

"Why don't you just get comfortable." Cas looked at Dean with slight confusion, and then yielded, sitting cross legged on the motel bed. It was a near painful reminder of the Cas of 2014. Hippie Cas. Dean quickly pushed that image away, Cas having an orgy with a bunch of women was not the Cas he knew. And certainly not the Cas he preferred. "You've been dropping bye, but always disappearing before I can say one thing, haven't you? And don't lie."

"As an angel of the Lord, I do not lie."

Dean waited, but once again Castiel would not elaborate without being propositioned. "You _never_ lie?"

"It depends." The angel looked away and then returned to Dean's face. "Is omitting information the same as lying?"

Dean sighed and raised his hands in frustration. "It is when you're applying for a job."

Castiel didn't respond. Dean still waited, but soon he knew that Cas was shutting down the road to communication. He turned away and paced slightly. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes or no?"

"Yes."

Dean whirled around. "You know I thought I was losing my bloody mind?! What the fuck are you playing at? If you want something from me, then just spit it out!" He swallowed roughly. Cas had his head cocked to the side again, looking like a German Shepherd uncertain of the command he was just given. "Well? You have something you want to say to me?"

"Yes, I wondering if you could let me go."

Dean was tempted to punch him. He grabbed a chair from the small, round table in the corner and pulled it up to the bed Cas was on. "No, you aren't going anywhere. Why have you been acting like a creeper? I mean come on, you don't usually hold back when something's on your mind."

Castiel let his eyes flicker over Dean's face. Over his rough stubble, his thin, upset mouth. He sat up a little, back onto his knees. He leaned towards Dean, and watched as the human's eyes flickered around, up and down Jimmy Novak's body. "I thought you might be…" Cas frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "I do not know, I suppose I thought you might feel distaste towards me."

Dean blinked, slowly, and then when the image of confused Cas didn't disappear from in front of him, he closed his eyes again. Staying that way for a few moments, he shook his head slightly. "What are you talking about? I don't get it Cas."

Castiel shifted slightly at his pet name. For some reason he thought that it meant he was unique to the Winchester. It was something personal, and something that had remained the same since Valentine's Day. "When I succumbed to Jimmy's desires. I thought that maybe when you looked at me, perhaps you felt something akin to distaste, disgust maybe. I thought it possible you might also be angry at me, because I failed you for… rotting flesh…"

Dean figured this had more to with Castiel feeling disgust for himself, his own feelings of guilt at succumbing when Dean needed him the most. He rolled his eyes at the angel. "Don't call it 'rotting flesh', you'll alienate every human who has ever had a burger."

The angel stared at him. The way he leaned forward let his tie hang down and lightly brush the bed spread when the angel moved. Dean knew the angel was testing how much he could move away from the center of the bed, and the bloody seal. Still, Castiel wasn't very aware of his own body language, and the position didn't appear at all masculine, powerful, or any of the other things that Castiel was known for.

Castiel grew uncomfortable. He let his chest fall forward and put his hands out to catch himself. On his hand and knees, he continued to stare at Dean.

It looked like a very bad strip tease, without the stripping, the tease, and with a Y chromosome instead of an X. Dean's mind briefly floated to a stripper he had seen once, with blonde hair dyed pink and a cherry red, cup-less bra. She had slid down the pole, gotten on her hands and knees like a cat, and crawled towards him. Other guys stuffed twenties into her boy shorts as she went by them.

Castiel was definitely not a stripper. More _asexual_ than a sexual being. And he lacked a certain lustful side to be an entertainer. Dean shook his head. When had he gotten so messed up in the head?

"You couldn't help it. There's nothing else to say. I don't think of you as any different."

Castiel's blue eyes tried to bore into Dean's hazel green eyes, as though trying to memorize the pattern in the iris. "You are lying. Even now you look at me differently."

Dean briefly let his mind wonder what the angel's reaction would be if he told him the truth. The only reasons why Dean was looking at him differently was either a problem with himself, or because Cas had put himself in a position that reminded Dean of a stripper he used to like. If he said that, "Cas, you remind me of a stripper" he could picture the angel cocking his head to the side again. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. Dean leaned back and covered his head with his hands. He then let out a dark chuckle and stood up. "I'll let you out now."

"Thank you," the angel said. Cas then sat back on his heels, his hips jutting out slightly beneath his dark pants.

Dean pulled a knife from its sheath and then got down on the floor. The mattress was held up with horizontal bars. He stuck the knife between two and sliced through the pattern. All it took was one small incision to destroy the power of the seal. He leaned back and flinched slightly as Cas stepped off the bed and over him. Dean stood up, and turned away to place the knife back on the side table.

Dean straightened back up, slowly. He could feel Castiel behind him. The warmth back in his arms. He turned around only to find that Cas was a little closer than he needed to be. Figures.

Cas looked away for a moment, and then leaned closer. "You should not lie, not to me." Then the angel vanished, leaving the motel as quick as he had appeared.

Dean knew he'd be back. Him and Sam, like lost dogs would always wander back eventually.

* * *

Hey, this is not a oneshot. Please review! And this will contain various sexual and emotional themes.

-Alika613


	2. Chapter 2

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

II

A/N: Set right after My Bloody Valentine. This is Dean/Castiel.

* * *

Dean was right. Eventually Sam stopped running off, he stuck around longer and longer, and eventually didn't leave unless he had a reason. Dean watched this progression over the next week, noticing with bitter humor that it was as though they resigned themselves to the fate of being stuck together. Two people bound by something greater than blood, greater than brotherly affection, greater than friendship.

They were bound by destiny.

Dean pulled off the highway, preferring back roads. There was something about the empty space; something familiar and comforting about it, like a home town. If you are by yourself and feel lonely, then that makes sense, but if you are surrounded by others in their sedans and talking on their cell phones, and you still feel lonely, then you have a problem. Dean had a hard time dealing with seeing them out of the corner of his eye. There was something cruel about the fact that they were all blessed with a serene ignorance that Dean hadn't had since he was four years old.

Dean looked away from the pine trees that lined the road. The sky was turning gray, the green black creating a gothic contrast. He stared at his brother for a few moments. Sam's head was resting against the window pain, his knees bent awkwardly as he had to squeeze his large frame into the passenger seat. Dean raised his eyebrows as he looked back onto the road. "Nobody ever thought I was short until they met my brother."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then again, while Sam was there physically, he wasn't really there like he used to be. He had always been the feeling one in the family. Both introverted and extroverted, he was usually able to relate to everyone, and genuinely… genuine. Sam had been excitable, a bit of an angel when he saved lives.

Well, not like Castiel, Uriel, or Anna Angel, but like sweetheart angel. Puppy dog eyes and whatnot.

Dean might have been shocked at seeing his 2014 self, stupefied at Castiel's 2014 self, but it was Sam's 2014 self that had permanently dismantled something inside Dean. If anyone else had seen it, they hardly would have suspected anything was terrible wrong. Just a man well dressed in a white suit, a cocky smile, and an impenetrable air of authority. That wasn't Sam. His Sammy was, or at least had been, too saintly for that to be him.

If he ever lost the kind, humble, profound Sam to that beast, he'd do something unimaginable. Yet it seemed like every day they trudged on, a little bit more of the original Sam was lost.

"Sammy, you shouldn't have changed." The words came out a slight mumble. "You never should have asked me if monsters really exist. I never should have told you. Never should have come back to this lifestyle." He swallowed. He knew it was bullshit. He could see clearly the images of all the people he and Sam had saved. The jinn had shown him that there was a reason, a very real and worthy reason, for what they did. Without them countless lives would have been lost, murdered.

He couldn't help but think that while Sam for all appearances was fine, was having his soul slowly taken from him in the never ending wave of depression. Soul murder. Since Dean's little brother was in trouble, hurting, it should have been up to Dean to do everything in his power to save Sam, but he couldn't. He could barely lift a finger to save him, they were both just so far gone.

He breathed deeply, smelling something faint and light. He felt the sensation again, a blanket, cocoon, a womb of warmth and blissful heat. He shoved away the feeling of contentment, and lifted his harsh eyes to the rearview mirror. An angel looked back at him.

"Glad to see you decided to show your face again." Dean took away his eyes, they roamed over the uneven road. Another frost heave under the tires. Damn, Sam could sleep through anything.

Castiel looked around briefly. "You did not tell me you were moving."

"Did you have any trouble finding us?" Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter and stared ahead. He could feel the cotton shirt he wore drag over the hand prints on his arms. The wound, though as healed as it would ever be, was still a vibrant pink underneath the shirt.

Castiel hesitated before answering. "No." He turned his head and looked out the window. "Where are you heading?" Cas turned his head back and tried to meet Dean's eyes in the mirror. It seemed as though Cas was always striving for eye contact, and while it was usually a polite gesture, it was also unsettling if you weren't used to it. Castiel looked at a person like he knew everything about them, every personal detail, but was not at all their friend.

Dean gave him the brief eye contact that the angel wanted. "New Hampshire, it's a long drive, remote, and cold this time of year." Dean's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "The usual sucky conditions."

Castiel looked away from the mirror, and at the back of Dean's head. He let his eyes look up and down, searching for something physically different that would explain Dean's change in demeanor. While his eyes settled on the nape of Deans neck, he wondered why. Even though Dean said nothing was different, why did something seem to have transformed irreversibly. "You aren't listening to music."

Dean bit his cheek again. It was a habit that resurfaced more and more as he spent time with the angel. He was about to turn to Castiel and give him an excuse, like trying to keep it down so that Sam could sleep. He didn't get a chance to say anything though. Cas vanished, taking the warmth away in the car away with him.

Dean sighed and hung his head for a moment, looking up under his eyelashes to check the abandoned road. '_If Cas hadn't been so fucked up, shoving his face with beef, he would have heard what Famine said. He would have heard about how I was the fucked up one, how I was fucking damaged. The fuck would Cas think then?!'_ In his pent up fury, Dean had sliced open the inside of his cheek. Blood leaked onto his tongue, the taste of iron.

The image of Sam appeared, mouth and chin stained with red. He knew it was a power rush, and yet he couldn't see how Sam had been persuaded to try it in the first place. "I don't get it Sammy."

"Don't get what?" Dean grit his teeth and turned to look at his little brother. He still had his forehead pressed against the window, but his eyes were open. They blinked a few times before hazily remaining halfway between awake and asleep.

"How long have you been awake?" Dean's voice was gruff, it almost sounded as though it was trying to overcompensate for anytime it had ever sounded weak.

"Maybe all of five seconds," Sam sat up straight and grimaced at the time. "Dean, it's eight o'clock, aren't you starving?!" They had been on the road since nine that morning, and the only reason Sam wasn't starving was because he was blissfully unaware of how empty his stomach was while he slept.

"Yeah, I'll pull over at the next motel."

Sam furrowed his brows and squinted at Dean. "Dude, does it look like we are going to be passing _any_ motels any time soon?"

Dean shrugged, then relented somewhat when Sam continued to look at him with desperate eyes. "Do you have a map?"

Sam grabbed the various packet of maps from the glove department. He flipped through until he found the one for New England. He opened it, the map taking up almost the size of the windshield. "Do you have any idea what street we are on?"

Dean racked his brain for the exit number when he turned off the highway. He told Sam and estimated how many miles he'd been driving down this particular road. Sam found it on the map in a few minutes, and sighed. "Try another half hour on this road, then make a right onto a main road. After another twenty minutes we should be in a city big enough to have a motel of some sort." Sam smirked, "and get this, the city is Winchester, New Hampshire."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I didn't think we'd be crossing the border so far on the left, so that's why I didn't notice earlier."

"Well it's about freaking time they named something after us!" Dean listened carefully to Sam's chuckle. While it was only a chuckle, and not a full out laugh, the sound was something long missed.

They were quiet for a long time. Sam tried to go back to sleep, but it was impossible. Even extreme boredom couldn't put him back out. It was unfortunately really, that for the first time he had an occasion to sleep for more than four hours he couldn't get sleep to come. "Have you seen Cas lately?"

Dean made the right turn he needed to in order to get onto the main road. This street had a few lights here and there, but other than that it appeared as desolate as the last road. "Why do you ask about Cas?"

Sam made to turn his head towards Dean, but stopped halfway through and returned to stare out the front of the car. "Just wondering. It seems like he's been gone for a while."

Dean felt like scoffing. Cas was self-conscious about his break down with meat, and now it seemed as though Sam was also self-conscious, though trying to be discreet. He was concerned with what Cas thought of him? "He dropped by a few days ago, and while you were asleep. He just wanted to know where we were going." Dean knew he was giving a watered down answer, but at the same time there wasn't much to say. It was obvious to both of them that Cas followed Dean around, talked with Dean, fought for Dean- not Sam.

Sam nodded his head. He shifted slightly, trying to make his long, muscular limbs fit better.

"It's not your fault, Sammy. What happened under Famine, not really your fault." Dean licked his lips, and while he believed in what he was saying, he found it impossible to turn to look Sam in the eyes.

Sam looked over at his big brother. He closed his eyes slowly, and then opened them again, his eyes distant. "It is my fault though, nobody made me drink that blood. Not the first time or the last time.

Dean didn't know if he should agree or disagree. He knew that Sam wouldn't fall for some bull shit about him being innocent, but at the same time he didn't know as all the blame should lie on his only brother's shoulders. "That may be so. You know though, that you never would have relapsed back with the blood if it wasn't for Famine. It would be like sticking a junkie in front of a needle, or a sex addict in the red light district. Famine made you do it because he upped the temptation, made you want it more than you ever would have wanted in the real world."

Dean could feel Sam's eyes looking at him, staring at the side of his head. He was careful not to move, afraid that any twitch would make Sam doubt the resolve he had in his words. "Famine got the best of you, but it also got the best of Cas, so don't even worry about it."

Sam considered this, and then looked away. "Famine might have gotten the best of Cas, but not you. Why is that Dean? Isn't there anything you want, more than anything?"

Dean couldn't help himself. He bit his cheek until it bled again, and then he remembered the way Castiel had stared at him with his intense, cerulean eyes.

* * *

Hey, I know this chapter didn't have as much Dean & Cas, but I don't want to rush it. I want to focus on their relationship as it grows, not just thrust them into the bedroom.

Though that will happen.

I really do enjoy reviews, ;D

And on a factual note, there is a town called Winchester in NH, but I searched for hotels and I'm not sure if there are any. Ooops, I tried to use real details, oh well!

-Alika613


	3. Chapter 3

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

III

A/N: Set right after My Bloody Valentine. This is Dean/Castiel. The episode with Bobby, Dean Men Don't Wear Plaid, didn't play much of a role in the relationship or character development in Dean or Castiel, so it will be ignored for this fanfic. Dark Side of the Moon is pretty much ignored too, except for some thoughts on the physical manifestation of their bodies.

And while I loved 99 Problems, it would be too confusing too continue this story as though it happened, when I've already sent them off to NH. That being said, I borrowed some things from the episode.

* * *

After Dean and Sam had checked into the small motel room the older brother had taken off with the Impala. He was going out mostly under the guise of getting food, but he wasn't really paying attention to the fast food joints he was driving by. He was vaguely aware that Sam had given him a worried look when he decided to take off, but at the same time he figured that as long as he didn't stay out longer than forty-five minutes and came back with some chow, there wasn't really anything to justify Sam's worries.

Dean couldn't help but keep looking over his shoulder though. He realized that Castiel rarely dropped by twice in one day, even staying away for weeks on end, but since the angel hadn't been acting like his usual self anyways, it wouldn't really have surprised him to find Jimmy Novak's body staring blankly at him from the back seat.

Things hadn't been right, or normal between them for a while.

Dean spent more time than he wanted to thinking about the angel. He guessed that since they were only in New Hampshire to take care of a few suspicious deaths, Castiel's services wouldn't be needed. He estimated that it would be a few days until he saw Cas again.

Dean pulled over and parked at a Wendy's. Leaning his head against the steering wheel, he gave himself ten minutes of peace before going through the take-out line and heading back to the dreary, and probably germ coated motel room.

Sam and Dean had been dressed in their FBI suits when Castiel had stopped them on their way out of the hospital morgue. Cas had halted, looked up and down Sam with his brows furrowed, before ignoring him completely and turning to Dean. "We should talk."

Sam shifted his weight, and looked between the two. His head tilted down at the shorter pair. He glanced at the shortest one, the angel still pointedly ignoring him. His hard gaze fixed completely at Dean. Sam was fairly certain that if Castiel ever looked at him that way he would be freaking out on the inside, but Dean just casually returned the gaze. The corner of Sam's mouth turned up in an awkward smile. "Um… I'll just wait in the car…" He shrugged, "nice seeing you Cas." Sam turned and crossed the street, jogging slightly to get away faster.

"You know I think it bothers him that you always give him the cold shoulder." Dean almost felt like laughing. Cas might be naïve about some things, he might be on the good side, but he could still be a jackass. Though that just might be because Cas had never had a reason for politeness before. The hierarchy in heaven probably didn't require Cas to interact and play pleasantries with many of the other angels.

"Who?"

"Sam, you ignore him or worse, and it bothers him."

Dean watched the confusion on Castiel's face as he frowned. "Sam is an abomination."

Dean heard it, but didn't know how to react. In truth he wanted to laugh, but that might be a betrayal to Sam who already hated himself enough without his brother being amused by his plight, or by the angel talking about him behind his back. He couldn't help it though, Cas was amusing in that sense. An honest, non-empathetic son of a bitch. Dean let out a low chuckle, and his hand reached up to squeeze the angel's shoulder.

The angel didn't react, just looking at the hand to Dean's smiling lips. Dean took back his hand to run it through his hair. "Man, I know you don't like him, but an abomination? Little Sammy?"

"He's your brother, not mine. I don't have to like him." The angels eyes were narrowed, his mouth set in a hard line.

Dean thought mildly that Castiel was a bit more upset than he should be. He wanted to tell Cas that the angel didn't like anyone, that it was probably in his job description to be as neutral as possible. "Don't forget that I'm a liar, an adulterer, a thief, and also slightly arrogant. I must be an abomination as well."

Dean hadn't expected the glare he got from the angel, the harsh way he grit his teeth making his jaw appear more masculine. "You are _not_ an abomination." Dean sucked in a breath. Castiel was quiet, but it was the angriest he'd seen the angel. It wasn't like he was afraid Cas was going to punch him, or yell, or break something. Cas was still calm and cool, he'd just upped the passion a little, his gruff voice leaving little room to question him.

"I don't need you to justify my actions, forgive me or whatever. I've read the Bible. I know what it says. I'm not bothered by most of my sins," Dean looked away from Cas to try and see if Sam was watching them from the Impala.

"Your sins didn't cause innocent people to die."

Why the fuck did Cas care? "I drink, steal credit cards and scam people for money, there's the whole premarital sex bit-"

"I'm well aware of what you did with Anna." Castiel's body seemed to jerk slightly, he looked away, his face harsh yet unreadable at the same time.

Dean took a step back, crossed his arms, rolled his eyes, shook his head, the whole nine yards so that Cas couldn't possibly mistake the fact that Dean found this conversation had gone too far. "We can debate morale later. I don't give a fuck, and I don't know what your problem is." Dean paused and put his head in his hands. This was stupid. Arguing with an angel, in the middle of a job, about something he didn't really care about, was stupid. He didn't understand why Cas bothered getting worked up about it, but it was stupid, and yelling at said angel in front of a hospital where their security might come to check out what the fuss was about…

"What did you want to tell me Cas?" Dean waited for a response that didn't come, before groaning and looking up. Cas was gone.

Dean took a deep breath, which probably fueled his frustration instead of calming himself down. He stomped across the street, ignoring the blaring horn as someone had to stop quickly to avoid hitting him. He wrenched open the door to the Impala and nearly slammed it behind him. He was getting more and more worked up until he heard a cough beside him. "What?!"

Sam's eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline. "Something happen…?"

Dean gripped the steering wheel. "I don't get Cas."

Sam meant to say something like "that seems to be happening a lot," or "apparently you don't understand many people." Sam hadn't asked what Dean meant the other night when he said he didn't understand Sam, something had told him to just last night go. Sam nodded, "what did Cas say?"

"We just got into some fucked up argument about whether or not I was a sinner."

Dean nearly punched Sam when he heard him laugh, but the way the other guy was shaking and leaning away from Dean meant that Sam knew he was going to piss him off, but couldn't help it. "Why would you bother arguing with Cas? Seriously, he doesn't exactly see eye to eye or change his mind about things. Did you seriously get into a debate?" Sam had a wide grin on his face, still pressed up against the door incase Dean tried to take his frustration out on him.

"It wasn't a debate so much as three minutes of a waste of time."

"Then why did you argue with him?"

"I can't help it if he refuses to see reason."

Sam snickered. "I wish I'd seen that, you both getting pissy with each other. But he can't take a swing at you because he genuinely likes you, and you can't take a swing at him because he'll probably see it coming."

Dean shook his head, and pulled out of the parking space. "You should be glad you weren't there." Dean mumbled, "almost started talking about my sex life, for Christ's sake."

Sam pinched his lips together, having a hard time holding back the laughs. "How did that come up?"

Dean sighed. "Let's just focus on the job."

Sam nodded, straightening up. "None of the other victims were pregnant, but they all had the harsh bite marks on their necks."

"But they aren't vampire or werewolf bites. They're shaped like any human jaw. The… vaginal trauma suggests that they were repeatedly raped. How do we know that this isn't the work of an actual human being?" Dean turned down another road to visit the latest victim's home. Her name had been Claire, Claire Campbell, originally born and raised in Canada.

"Except for the fact that their health deteriorated rather quickly, their family and friends said that they were fine until a month ago. Pictures taken of her less than a month earlier make it look like the second victim lost at least twenty pounds, and one coworker said that while she tried to cover it up she seemed really depressed. Odd considering she just got a promotion. The first victim got really irritable and couldn't focus. She was a vet until she made a major error while spaying a dog."

Dean frowned, "what happened?"

"Apparently she sliced through the dogs urethra, which can be fatal if not corrected." Dean's lip curled up, not a detail he needed to know. "On another instance she flipped out and hit a guy because the guy wanted to have his dog put down." Sam looked out the window, blinking a few times. "You don't go to school for eight years, do a yearlong residency, only to throw it all away on a careless mistake, or an outburst. Not exactly the calm, logical perfectionist her friends all described her as."

"So what monster kills people by destroying their health, in less than a month, but causes electrical storms too? It would point to a demon, but the cause of death doesn't fit." Dean pulled over at a red house; a black cat peered out the window at them.

The two marched across the street, and up the steps of the front porch. Dean tried the handle, twisting it and then looking at Sam when it swung open easily. Sam jerked his head, his hand inching near the gun he kept hidden; just in case.

They moved swiftly throughout the house, making certain that it was empty. Sam nearly took a shot when a yowl sounded behind him. The cat whose tail Dean had stepped on took off under a table, and Dean looked up at him. He shrugged. "What? I didn't see it." Sam sighed and turned back to the house.

Everything was done in a color scheme of pastels, mostly pink. It was just barely more cute than annoying, and the place was rather spotless. The more obnoxious things were lace doilies, porcelain dolls, and the many romance books tucked away on a bookshelf. Sam heard a scoff behind him and turned to see his brother staring up at a painting of a cherub. Neither brother knew whether to be grossed out our humored.

Dean let out a breath and turned away. "Well, I know what I'm getting Cas for his birthday."

Sam smiled. "He wouldn't know how to respond, he probably wouldn't even realize it's a joke." He looked down as a calico rubbed up against his legs. "How old do you suppose he is?"

"Who?" Dean started to open up drawers, you wouldn't believe how many people hid their dirty little secrets next to the socks.

"Castiel. I mean, he must be ancient."

Dean stopped and looked up. He never forgot that Castiel wasn't human. He never forgot the Castiel was an angel. Sometimes though, he forgot what that meant. He had a huge, friggin list of things he was going to ask the angel if they survived the Apocalypse. "You want a real head spinner?" Dean pulled open another drawer. "Castiel inhabits Jimmy's body, but when he was around me right after raising me, all I saw was a bright, white light, and his so called voice." The memory of the convenience store incident was still unpleasant. "So if angels have no body and are genderless, then Cas being a guy is just a coincidence because his vessel is male."

Clearly the thought had never occurred to Sam whose jaw was rather slack. He looked over at his brother to judge if he was serious. "I don't know why I didn't think of that before."

Dean smirked, "I vote we start referring to Cas as 'it' and see how he takes it." _'Apparently he can't take a swing at me because he "genuinely likes me". Yeah, right.'

* * *

_

I like this chapter, the only thing I might be concerned about is the pace. It's rather fast compared to my other chapters, but perhaps that's because on a job Dean can't exactly drive off into the sunset and contemplate the meaning of life, sloooooowly. Maybe I'll look for a beta to keep my writing in line and realistic and well written in general.

Well, I'd really like to thank my reviewers! I'm sorry if I didn't reply, they do mean a lot to me though!

Oh, and don't get worked up because I said Castiel is genderless. So long as his vessel has a penis, this is slash. Ha ha.

-Alika613


	4. Chapter 4

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

IV

A/N: I am actively searching for a beta, one that can help me keep the characters as they should be. I've seen every episode of Supernatural, but this is my first fanfic for the show and so I'm still working out some kinks. Thank you for your patience! And if you know someone, or are a someone, who is very familiar with the Supernatural cast I would love to have them as a beta! If they are willing, that is. It's harder than you think, I've sent out 6 messages to betas accepting requests, and only two have replied, , but it didn't work out with either of them.

* * *

"You misunderstand me."

Dean shivered slightly. Lying in bed, he had been awoken slightly by the warmth that spread over his biceps. It had felt as though thick, warm syrup had been dragged up his arms and over his chest, spreading farther. He would have known what it meant, but the hazy sleep slowed him down. Dean sat up, grit his teeth and rubbed at his eyes slightly. He turned his head to see the angel sitting on the edge of his head, peering at him over his shoulder. "I misunderstood you?"

"Yes." Cas looked away, staring down at his own lap.

Dean frowned and drew in a rough breath before squinting at the angel. "About what?"

"Sam."

"You don't hate think Sam is an abomination?" Dean looked over at his brother. A heard of rhinos could be in the room and Sam wouldn't wake up.

"Sam… has many faults, many of which have caused very severe repercussions." Dean waited for more, and was about to reply when Cas broke the silence again. "There are very few humans I have gotten to interact with. There is you, Sam, Bobby, and Ellen and Jo have since passed on. What I said about Sam… I meant it as purely factual, not as a reflection of whether or not I dislike him." Cas looked up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing water stains.

Dean sighed. Cas had done that before, said things without realizing that they could be interpreted differently than how he meant. "What did you want to tell me?"

Cas nodded, then turned back to Dean. "I wanted to warn you in private anyways, that's why I didn't object to Sam leaving."

Dean stood up. Castiel glanced at Dean's silhouette and the black shirt he wore. The shirt was slightly tight, hugging his strong shoulders and just barely covering the marks that Castiel's hands had left behind. Castiel's eyes drifted lower until felt his chest tighten and something warned him to turn away. Cas looked down onto the twisted sheets and quilt. He could see the butt of a gun sticking out from underneath the pillow. "Do you know what's killing the girls?" Dean had spun around, narrowed eyes on the angel.

Castiel looked up, slightly widened eyes starting to look away from Dean as he spoke. "I… can't be certain. They are _extremely _rare, and they have learned to be smart." He sighed, eyes still flashing as he thought of the best way to explain, without revealing what he actually suspected may be behind the attacks. "They are… almost demons."

"What?" Dean straightened up and walked towards Cas. "Either they are or they aren't. Which is it?"

Castiel stood up and turned away, not letting Dean's perceptive eyes see his face. "They have different methods, different goals. They don't… operate like demons. They tend to coexist with humans peacefully." Castiel spun around, prepared for yelling from Dean.

Demons. Humans. Peace. Yelling would probably be Dean's first instinctual reaction.

"What did you say?" Dean's voice was gruff, and he took long strides until he was within inches of Castiel. Not yelling, but his eyes flashed and his bottom lip trembled in repressed anger.

For a moment, Castiel didn't know what was happening to his body. For the briefest moment his body felt hot, like the heat from Dean had been transferred to him and set ablaze. His stomach clenched and he knew he was breathing as though desperate for oxygen. It felt as though his body had a mind of its own, and it expected something, called out for something.

But then the feeling was gone, and with nothing to replace it, Castiel felt strangely empty. "Their motives are different. They gain from humans, the majority don't bite the hand that feeds them."

"So they're okay then? They're good demons! Is that it?!"

Castiel's eyes glanced towards the door. Then down at Sam. Cas supposed when you got less than five hours of sleep, and actually needed it, you learned to sleep through anything. It seemed oddly dangerous though to be undisturbed even by a conversation a few yards away. Sam may be the brother that got up on time and woke Dean, but he probably had to rely on Dean to wake him if there was a problem.

Castiel turned his hard stare back to Dean, his brows furrowed. "You've never encountered one before, let alone fought one. Neither had your father for that matter. There are less than a hundred of them left in the entire world. They have their uses though, so I can't have you going after them until I'm certain they're responsible, and I can't have other hunters hearing about this for the same reason." Castiel's head cocked to the side. "For those reasons I need you to exercise some self-control."

The way Castiel's eyes looked colder than ever, Dean knew he was dealing not with Cas, but with a soldier of Heaven. "Useful to who?" Dean grit his teeth, his nostrils flaring. "Useful to Heaven?"

Castiel didn't flinch. He knew why Dean was angry, why he had every right to be. Demons took his father from him, manipulated and broke part of his brother, toyed with and tortured him. Castiel could see the anger. Castiel could almost relate. In the beginning, when his brothers had started to be killed on the battlefield, their dark wings outstretched from their dead vessels, he had felt something akin to anger.

And when Lucifer, in his rotting, peeling vessel, had leaned towards him and implied that they were similar- Castiel had felt more anger in that moment than he knew he possessed. Anger at being told that because he had defied Heaven and been kicked out, he should be in agreement with Lucifer. Anger at the demon that had compared Lucifer to Castiel's Father, God, when Lucifer was nowhere on the same level as God.

He understood Dean's anger, but he was tempted to counter it with more anger. Dean was directing all that frustration at him? Please. Did he forget all that Castiel had sacrificed for him?

Dean took Castiel's lack of reply as a gentle way of saying yes. "Why do you bother Cas? Heaven isn't ever going to take you back. Even if we win, to them you are too far gone, you already turned your back on them. Why bother protecting their interests?"

"Because," Cas swallowed the angry feelings before he was tempted to let them loose on his human charge. "They are… my brothers as well." Cas thought he saw Dean's mouth open in protest, but Cas was quicker. "Some of them are better than others. Rehael was a good teacher of mine, Nemamiah protected me when I needed it, these are my brothers. They are worth my keeping one secret from you."

Castiel's eyes softened, and then he turned around and walked back to the bed, looking down at it for something to do.

Dean watched him with narrowed, green eyes. "So what do you want me to do? Pretend like I don't know that you are hiding information on the monster we're hunting?"

"It may not even be the same type of demon. I'll let you know what I discover." Cas turned around and nodded to the side slightly. "Until then, just track it down and I will fill you in on the details if my suspicion pans out."

Dean felt the heat in his arms burn up slightly, then start to drain down his limbs. He could feel Castiel start to leave him. Dean felt like calling out, something like "this is bullshit" or "why bother warning me" but he couldn't get the words out before Cas was replaced by air.

Dean looked towards the alarm clock. He was going to go for a drive, a long one with the heat turned off so that the cold would keep him awake and alert, and then he'd come back. He'd come back, wake Sam up early, and take off with him after this _demon_.

Fuck Cas.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Yelling, very loud yelling.

Sam didn't rise so much as jerk and stumble out of bed. "Christ Dean, isn't it a little early?"

Dean was tying up his shoes and bounding towards where his jacket was thrown over a chair before Sam had even managed to take a step. Sam looked towards the clock. How much sleep had he gotten? Four hours? Five? Why the hell did Dean wake him up early?

"Dean, I don't even think we can find a breakfast place open this early."

"Don't worry Sam," Dean smiled crookedly and picked up something wrapped in tinfoil and tossed it to his brother, "I took the initiative and already got breakfast."

Sam gave Dean a light, confused glare before walking towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. "Why so early?"

Dean shrugged. "Think this monster ever sleeps? We need to get a move on it before it goes after another girl."

Sam rolled his eyes. Monsters don't sleep, and apparently neither can he. "So what are you thinking?"

"You couldn't find a common link between the victims, right?"

Sam thought back to last night, somewhere around midnight. "Nothing except they all live in the same town." _'And they were all raped and killed, but that goes without saying.'_

"I think we need to go to their friends and family now, ask them some questions. We've already spoken with the vet, Jennifer's friends, but what about the latest victim? Claire, she's the shy type, but she must have had at least one friend."

Sam spit out the toothpaste, and rinsed his mouth with water. "Her cats were her friends. I couldn't find a facebook or a myspace page, and we didn't find any phone numbers at her place. My guess is the only way we're going to find any friends of hers is if we look at her colleagues." Sam left the bathroom and picked up what he suspected was an egg, cheese and sausage sandwich. Sam looked back up at his brother. Dean seemed rather fake today, like all the get-up-and-go energy was too forced. Sam let it go though and stepped into his shoes, pulling on a jacket as he went. "She worked at the mall though, so they might already be open. Especially if they have a Dunkin' Donuts there."

Dean clapped his hand on Sam's back. "Let's hunt this mother fucker down."

Sam's eyebrows did an awkward twitch, and he opened the tinfoil slowly. Slightly distracted by eating, he walked a few paces behind Dean and out to the hotel parking lot. Sam looked up when he heard his brother clear his throat, and he waited a moment for him to say something. "Something you want to say, Dean?" He smiled slightly, eyes drifting over his brother's back.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "They were raped, right? So maybe," he sighed rather forcefully, more like a scoff really, "what we're after is a demon." Dean nodded his head, still not looking back at Sam, hands shoved into his pockets. He glanced over his shoulder at his younger brother. "A demon that is possessing a body, and then raping and killing these girls." Dean's eyes glanced away from Sam, and for a moment they seem strangely hollow, as though roaming over a thought before quickly letting it go.

"What made you think of this?"

Dean turned around, eyes still hollow. "Nothing."

* * *

A/N: How smokin' hot is the "My name is death and the end is here" advertisement for Supernatural. Heck, I freakin' love that thing! I guess it's also called O' Death. Damn, that thing gives me chills. If you haven't seen it, you can find it on youtube, search "Supernatural trailor o death" and it's the very first one by CW.

SPOILERS for POINT OF NO RETURN:

Oh, and Point of No Return had more Destiel moments than an NC-17 fanfic. I'm not kidding, the fighting, the "blow me, Cas," and then after the fight Dean wakes up handcuffed to the bed. Please. Cas handcuffed him not for fear that Dean would run or fight, but for fun. NC-17 fun…

Thanks for being so patient! Much love,

Alika613


	5. Chapter 5

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

V

A/N: I had a hard time writing the last chapter, but once I started, it took me less than half a day to finish. Much love to my reviewers, including Kay who doesn't seem to have an account—so I couldn't reply and say thanks! Also, after my tantrum/plea for beta help, I'm happy to say I got several offers! Haha.

So, a big thanks goes to drkphoenyx for becoming my beta, and another thanks to everyone who offered. I appreciate the support!

Oh! Dean contemplates women and his sexuality in this one, so if you can't possibly read hetero/bi/used to be straight Dean… well, you have been warned. Oh, and if you haven't noticed this fic is rated MATURE for a reason.

* * *

"No, I don't think she did." The bleach blonde twirled a finger through her hair, and then sat on the edge of her desk. She smiled up at Dean and Sam, and then crossed her legs, the fabric of her pencil skirt pulling tight over her lap. "No, I'm pretty sure she didn't have a boyfriend. I mean, she was a good girl, but so shy!" This blonde wasn't the least bit shy; she pulled her hair back over her shoulder so that her collarbone and delicate neck was visible. Dean couldn't tell if she was after Sam or him. The moves were familiar, but the excitement Dean felt wasn't as strong as usual.

"Well, Miss. Fecteau, if you have any information, please call us." The corner of Dean's mouth quirked up and the corner of his eyes crinkled in a flirty way. "Here's the number where you can reach us. Call anytime and I'll answer." Somehow the words came out as a cross between a promise and a secret. Something that made a woman feel like the words were all hers, and that he said it with only her in mind.

Neither Dean nor Sam was surprised when she perked up, and snatched the number with manicured tips. "Of course, Agent Page, anything to help." She lowered her eyes so that lashes swept over her cheeks. "It's just so horrible! I mean, she was such a sweet girl, the poor thing."

Dean smiled, his eyes glancing over her face briefly. He knew the concern there was fake. Probably most of the emotions she had displayed were faked, except for maybe lust. She had a petite nose and pouty lips that reminded him of Anna, and that spun into thoughts of Castiel. Castiel, the jackass who apparently knew all about his hot, hurried sex in the back of the Impala with Anna.

Dean's anger with Cas must have shown on his face, because the blonde stopped smiling and turned away, looking out from her manager's office at the mall restaurant in front. Dean pulled back and stepped out of the office.

Sam gave the woman a tight smile and reminded her to call them anytime, and then hurried after his older brother. "Well she was no help."

Dean raised his eyebrows and meant to say something about how the woman probably hadn't even noticed that the waitress hadn't shown up for work. But before he could reply, a strong hand grabbed hold of his forearm and spun him around. He found he kind of liked that, the strength clenching at him; the surprise woke him up slightly and was enough to trigger adrenaline after years of kill or be killed fighting.

"Did you think of something?" Dean asked, trying to force a smile, so as to make up for glaring at her before.

She rolled her shoulders and smiled back. She seemed to have forgotten why she was there, but happy to be back in the presence of such authoritative and attractive men. "I just remembered," she smiled, seeming a little too proud of herself as she placed her hands on her hips, "that Claire was always reading in her free time, romance novels mainly. She mentioned that she liked to go to the library." She reached for Dean's left hand, and held it palm up.

"Say this spot here is the mall," he nail scraped lightly near the base of his thumb, "you need to go up the street," a nail dragged towards his index finger, "make a right at Canal Street," the nail drifted towards his ring finger, "and then another right at Church Street until you see the sign for the parking lot. Shouldn't take you more than ten minutes!" She smiled, tilting her head slightly.

The head tilt was all wrong. Head tilts go with confusion, and sometimes blank stares, but not smiles. Dean pulled his hand away, and the woman frowned slightly. "You've been a huge help," he lied. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Dean pulled away, looking over to where Sam looked very uncomfortable. His eyes were looking pointedly away, as he stood rocking on the balls of his feet, clearly trying to ignore the hand fondling. Dean called out to him, "Agent Hamilton!" Sam spun around and gave a twitchy smile as an eyebrow raised. "Let's go!"

Dean rushed from the mall; he was surprised that he could move at such speed without jogging or full out running. He had to get out of there. Never before had stupid women bothered him, but everything about her had been all _wrong._

"Dude! What is up with you?!" Sam asked as he barely had time to close the passenger side door before Dean pulled into morning traffic and took off down the street.

"What do you mean, Sammy?" Dean hesitated a moment, then turned on the radio in case Sam tried to use the lack of music against him, like Castiel had.

"You! You practically gave her a death glare, and none of the usual flirting? What? No wink?" Sam tossed his hands in the air slightly. "I have longer legs than you and I can _still_ felt the burn from when you practically ran out of there."

Dean decided not to mention Sam's use of the word "burn" and shrugged instead. "Please, she was so fake! Even I have standards."

"No you don't." Sam wanted to punch Dean when he saw him about to protest. "Okay, maybe you have some standards, but come on, since when is she not your type?"

"Since I stopped liking skanks. What can I say? Everything about her was fake. I want someone more…genuine." Dean glanced at the radio; he had a hard time remembering if he was supposed to like this type of rock and roll or not.

"She was hot and into you. You should have gone for it, relieve some stress and frustration for once," the last part was mumbled as Sam looked out the window. If getting laid was all it took for Dean to let go some of the anger he had in him, Sam would personally tie him down and pay the "entertainment" to ride him. That is, if he couldn't find a woman who wasn't happy to do it for free.

Perhaps, that is what brothers are for?

"What about you Sam? Why don't you find a girl?" Dean tried to smile and make it sound like a tease.

"I just thought you weren't acting like yourself. Since when don't you like girls?" (when do you not like)

Even though Sam asked it innocently enough, Dean still felt anger well up. He gripped the steering wheel, pissed. He did like girls, fuck, what was wrong with him not listening to music and not flirting with girls at every chance he got? "I like Lisa." Sweet Lisa with her good son, Ben.

Sam snorted. "Affection is different."

Dean shut up and wondered when the faked happiness he had started the morning with had disappeared so that Sam could read him like an open book.

* * *

It was around seven at night when Dean snuck out of the hotel room and leaned against the Impala. The cold winds whipping around him, and he sniffed slightly and stared down at his feet. He couldn't help it if he hadn't been interested in that woman; she was shallower than a bird bath.

And to be fair, he couldn't help it if he wasn't interested in Lisa that way. He hadn't thought of Lisa in a man to woman kind of way for a while, but she represented something to him. The family he was never going to get to have. Lisa hadn't been tainted yet either, and he wasn't about to drag her into the dark side of the world.

Then there was Cassie. She was still smokin' hot. But the old wounds cut deep, and in the end he wasn't in love with her, nor she with him. He remembered some of the looks they had gotten, white guy and black girl, but it would have worked had the love still been there. He still remembered the passion though, the cutting loose, and missed that.

Bella had been seductive, and had she not been an emotionally damaged, inconsiderate, back stabbing thief he would have gladly splayed his hands over her ass, grabbed her tight, and shoved her against a wall so that he could make them both feel _so_ _good_. Then again, a nice ass didn't change the fact that she was bad news, which was saying something coming from him. Then there was the problem with her being buried six feet under.

He didn't want to think of Jo, but for some reason he couldn't get her out of his mind. Sure, he'd wanted her, even if it meant Ellen likely trying to kill him. He had loved the strong side to her, the bravery. The way he didn't think he could break her. Boy, had she been beautiful and perfectly petite with long, elegant limbs. He couldn't picture her beautiful anymore, and certainly not seductive. All he could picture was her slumped against the wall. The blood. He hadn't felt that weak since his father had died.

Then, there was Andrea Barr, Layla Rourke, and his fantasy girlfriend Carmen Porter. They had all been his type, and he had flirted with all of them, but he could hardly spare them a second thought because they were so very impossible. Layla had probably already succumbed to the brain tumor, and Carmen never existed to begin with.

Even if Michael hadn't killed Anna, she still tried to kill him and his family.

So, that left no women in his life. Which would probably spare a few of them the torment of having a hunter for a lover, but it was lonely too. At the same time though, he didn't want meaningless sex with random, obnoxious women. He didn't have to love them, but they had to have something, something that held his interest slightly, made him think and feel. He couldn't have sex just because he was horny and desperate for company.

He tried to think of someone who excited him. Someone who he could roam his hands over, listen to them make desperate noises, someone he wanted make love to, but he couldn't visualize this person. At best he could imagine the feeling of strong, unbreakable hands gripping his arms, holding him on top of them as he pushed their bodies to the brink. He could imagine the groaning, the choked back sounds as the person underneath him tried to keep from making noise.

That got him excited. He shifted against the Impala, desperately trying to think of someone, anyone to take the place of the body underneath him. A busty Asian came to mind, but somehow both his body and his heart rejected the idea. No, it couldn't be just anyone. There had to be a personal, intimate relationship between them. That's why this fantasy captivated him. Not because of the act or the physical attraction, but the intensity. It was the way he could practically taste the need in the other's kiss. He imagined that body moving against him, somehow lithe like a cat, yet clumsy and innocent; that's what turned him on.

Dean looked down at his crotch, wondering if this fantasy would be enough to tip him over the edge. Somehow the masturbation sessions had ended when the war had started, but maybe he just needed the right inspiration. Maybe take a shower later and work out the frustration Sam complained about.

He let his mind wander back to body underneath him. Somehow complacent, letting Dean work them into frenzy, but the strength remained. He wasn't going to break them, they were strong, holding on like their life depended on it, and moving so as to urge him on. He was held there, in that moment with them, as their lips hurriedly met with his and opened, sliding their tongues against each other and begging with small nips and a sucking motion for release. Dean could give them that. He'd bend his neck so that his lover could hear him moan, his hands grabbing at the other's narrow hips and bringing them closer together. The heat from his lover's hands was practically burning his arms.

Dean groaned out loud, reaching a hand down to press against the bulge in his pants. He grimaced slightly, wanting to jerk off but very aware that he was in a parking lot. Going inside now would mean crossing paths with Sam who would either notice or try to talk to him about the job and would then notice. Either way he felt fuckin' _robbed._

He pushed away the fantasy, not simply because he didn't want the complications of a greater hard-on, but because for a moment he wasn't sure how it ended. As stupid as it seemed, he couldn't imagine the voice that would shout "Dean!" as they came, and it was a pretty big detail. He needed to know the voice that would scream and beg and command. Dean huffed, jumping off the Impala. "My mind and my sex life are all fucked up!"

Dean nearly slammed a hand down on the hood, but stopped, this was his baby. He sighed and leaned over it, shaking his head slightly.

"Perhaps I should come back later?" The voice was gruff, strong, and yet melodic, poised. Dean swore under his breath, realizing in the back of his mind that the warmth up his arms had been real, and not an imagined effect of the fantasy.

"Your timing sucks, Cas!" Dean willed his manhood to go down, but the damage was done. He'd felt the warmth on his arms before he'd stroked himself through his jeans and shouted about his sex life. Dean couldn't help but blush slightly, trying not the glance back at the man. Stupid voyeur.

"… Should I come back later?"

Dean whirled around, looking at the other man's expression. The blue eyes examined Dean's body in a way that made him nervous and the slightly parted lips and tilted head on the angel told Dean that Cas was thinking. Thinking was bad, and he wanted the stupid redness to disappear from his own cheeks, and for Castiel to show some class and at least look sorry for interrupting! "Why bother!" Dean yelled looking away.

Cas took a step forward, and Dean bit his cheek, frustrated beyond belief with the stupidity, and god awfulness of the situation. Did Cas not understand personal space?

"You don't have to be embarrassed Dean." The way Cas said his name made him want to stop the speech right there, though he didn't know why it bothered him. "You're only human. A man. I'm not naïve enough to think that you don't…" Dean figured there was a "have needs" that was left off but intended.

Dean was reminded of his suspicion that Castiel, as an angel, was genderless, but his vessel was every bit masculine, with his strong jaw and straight torso. It seemed strange for Cas to be telling him that he was only human, when the angel nearly looked it.

"Cas, honestly," Dean shoved his hands in his pocket and straightened, "what would you know about needs?" Dean wasn't trying to be cruel, or embarrass the virgin angel.

Dean didn't get a response, so he turned away, prepared to ask Cas what he had learned of the maybe-demon.

"I do not know much," Castiel whispered, "about that. But I know embarrassment, and you do not have to be embarrassed around me, ever."

Dean remember Castiel's worry after the fight with Famine, and his eyes drifted shut as he visualized Cas, slightly nervous, on his bed that evening. Dean sighed, wondering why Cas's words seemed to mean so much. It could be the fact that Cas meant what he said, and didn't hold stumbling in on Dean against him.

Or it could have been that, for a moment, Castiel had given him something nobody else had. Permission to be free from embarrassment, and even shame, something that Dean had never been able to get rid of.

* * *

A/N: I'm kind of loving that I got Destiel in here. I mean, my god, they are soooooo gonna do it. And I have a confession, I fudgin' love that car. Since this is rated MATURE, I feel comfortable saying, someone is going to get bent over that Impala. I promise.

Poor Dean, so confused, he still thinks he's straight! Haha! The slash fans will show you the light, don't you worry Dean.

And I have been doing a LOT of thinking, and would like to sum it up for you all. Dean is a man, and Cas has the body of a man, so therefore, they are MEN. For the most part, I picture Dean on top, but I have no qualms with Castiel being top at some point. Please do not expect me to turn Cas into a girl. I don't want Cas to lose his masculinity, so there is that sort of theme in this fanfic. Dean fantasizes about someone strong, someone who can hold their own and to who he is equal with. I don't think you guys need this warning, but I wanted to be sure that you all had been warned, haha. Gay bottoms do not equal girls in this fanfic.

Much love, -Alika613


	6. Chapter 6

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

VI

A/N: So, there is this thing, and apparently it's called "work." Now I don't know about you, but I don't like it. It's noisy and keeps me up at night, it sheds everywhere, and it's like a black hole. It just sucks up all my time. I'm considering having it put down. At this point I think it's the only humane thing left to do.

Thanks go to drkphoenyx for being my beta! (Sorry this is late!)

* * *

"You're dealing with an incubus." Castiel stood in the middle of the hotel room, facing the Winchesters as Sam sat on his bed and Dean leaned against the wall.

"The band?" Dean raised a brow, looking up at Castiel from under his eyelashes.

"…No…" Castiel frowned, before looking at Sam.

"Incubus… as in demons that sneak into your bedroom and rape you?" Sam frowned.

"Yes. Though most cases reported to the Church weren't actually at the hands of demons." Castiel looked down at the ground, and his eyebrow seemed to twitch with thought.

Dean laughed and shook his head. "So this is the demon that lives in harmony with humans?" Dean ignored Sam's look of confusion, maybe he should explain it later.

"They disguise it as a dream or a one night stand. Most humans don't protest." The way that Castiel's frown deepened, and then the halfhearted shrug, even he wasn't entirely sure he believed it.

"You should have told," Dean remembered Sam at the last second, "us the second you started to think it was a demon."

Castiel watched Dean walk by, but kept his mind from drifting back to the scene in the parking lot. His eyes glanced up and down Dean, taking in the way his jaw was clenched and his fingers tightened into fists. "Like I said earlier, I couldn't have you killing one without proof. With only sixty-seven left, they're in danger of running out."

"And what does heaven need with sex demons?"

Sam groaned and put his head in his hands at the sound of Dean shouting.

"It's complicated."

"I have time," Dean ground out.

"They ensure that new vessels are made from the genetic material of current vessels, guaranteeing that certain lines will live on." Castiel glanced at Dean and Sam, before continuing. "For instance, had Jimmy's father been a homosexual, never settled down, was unable to perform, or so on, succubi and incubi would have…procured the necessary material."

"Christ, Cas! TMI." Dean shook his head and turned away from Castiel. "Isn't that what the cherubs are for?"

Castiel thought for a moment. "Cherubs make people fall in love. Sometimes love isn't necessary, or it's counterproductive. If Jimmy's father had been a child molester, then Jimmy would have been better off without him. It's not something that happens often. For the most part, vessel lines continue themselves without any needed interference."

"And what do they get out of working with angels?"

"Sex."

"And what, they need sex to live like the lore says?" Sam picked up his head, eyebrows slightly raised.

"Yes. It's how they feed off of a person's energy. Normally, they aren't violent. They can't feed off a dead human, so they stand more to gain by keeping them alive. The one you are after has lost control. He did too much damage to the bodies, and then drained them." Castiel stood up and jut out his chin slightly, looking at Dean's back. "This is… a problem."

Dean spun around. "How do you kill them? Is it the same as with demons?"

"No. They don't inhabit hell, so you can't send them back. They don't respond to exorcism either; since they've long had a deal with heaven, they no longer fear us. The only ways known to kill one, are to starve them or find a stronger incubus or succubus to kill them. The first method is long and difficult; the second is shorter, but unpleasant." Castiel frowned and then looked towards Sam. Sam had already fallen for a demon, and Dean apparently had repressed sex issues. They weren't exactly stellar opposition to these particular monsters. Originally, he'd thought Sam would be his bigger worry, but seeing Dean's desperation outside.

A seductive woman, perfectly molded to fit their dream girls, with an enticing voice filled with promises of a good time?

They _definitely_ could not be left unsupervised.

"How long does it take for them to starve?" Sam asked.

Castiel gave him a blank look, and Dean could barely keep himself from tossing his hands into the air at the stupid look.

"Are they like ticks? Are we talking 24 hours or a couple weeks?" Dean's voice was gruff and deep, it held threatening tones that made muscles in Castiel's stomach tense.

The reaction unnerved Castiel. It wasn't likely Jimmy's reaction. As the only time he had been able to influence his own body, had been when famine had given his desire a boost. Since when had Castiel's vessel responded without his permission? "They feed a couple times a month. If starved, the will start to get desperate after a month and crazed after another. They will tempt any human that happens upon them. At four months they will be sickly and lack control of themselves. I suspect they would die at around six months."

Dean stared at him, mouth having fallen open. Sam winced, "Oh."

"But you said that they were rare right? If there's only sixty-seven, how are we going to find one to kill the one we already have?" Dean shot Castiel a glare.

"Let me handle that. I have methods to help me find the next nearest one." Castiel glanced between Sam and Dean. "There are other considerations too."

Sam stretched his legs out in front of him. "As in…?"

"As in, once this incubus realizes that he is being hunted down, he will likely change over to his succubus form and make to seduce you." Castiel watched the slight twitch of Sam's face, but continued speaking before Sam could interject. "They don't fail. It isn't a matter of will. They will either find you when you are weak, or they will make you weak. You will have to keep an eye on each other."

"Sounds like a siren." Sam looked at Dean, remembering the "brother" Dean had wanted and how the siren had taken that form.

"With siren, the goal is murder, for an incubus the goal is to drain them partially. Sirens don't need to have sex, and they don't always do. Seduction is just a means to an end for them, but with incubi it is the only way for them to survive." Castiel's eyelashes fluttered for a moment. "Incubi are usually more amicable. Usually."

"Any idea where to find him?" Dean sat on his own bed, to the right of Sam's.

"The library!" Sam interrupted. "Think about it, if you work at the library you meet a lot of different people, and they should know the phone number and address of anyone with a library card. We skipped it because they aren't open on a Sunday."

Dean's eyes flickered back up to Castiel's. "Cas, be back here in the morning, ready to point him out, and keep us tame." Dean muttered the last part and turned away. He shuffled back on the bed, laying his head down and throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Sam gave him a curious look before reaching for his laptop.

Castiel smoothed his face, hiding any look of satisfaction that might be there. Even though Dean had turned away, he had called the angel by his nickname, and Castiel recognized that for what it was. They were still allies.

* * *

Sleep didn't come to Dean even after the clacking of Sam's keyboard had stopped. Even hours after all the lights had been shut off, Dean was awake, jaw clenched and hands grasping the blankets. He had been forcing his mind blank, chasing away any thoughts that came to him. He didn't want to think of Castiel's bullshit game of keep-away when it came to information. The fact that there would be a demon attempting to seduce Sam was enough to make him want to get Sam the hell out of there, and stick around long enough to take all the anger he still had for Ruby out on a much deserving surrogate.

Any demon that came on to him was as good as dead.

Then there was the shitty reminder of the whole siren fiasco. That was something Dean would have been better off forgetting, but no!

Dean felt something burn the back of his eyes, so he shut them tight and forced even that to pass. He bit his cheek. Having his personal space and privacy invaded by Castiel had even been bumped up a notch tonight, and for whatever reason the barriers were getting fuzzy.

Dean's thoughts drifted back to his new fantasy. He had thought he'd already met his dream woman, a sexy, fun nurse in genie-land. Now there was raspy groaning and tight hands? He turned his head into the pillow, and reminded himself that tomorrow if there were any Asians or sexy nurses, they were most likely the succubus. And if they were mysterious, needy, arched their backs a lot, and bit his shoulder, then they were also likely to be the succubus.

If it ever came to that, he was a goner. By the time he got a chance to see if they were a biter he'd already be in their bed and then goodbye life.

Another hour later, and he still hadn't slept. He hadn't felt comfortable continuing his fantasy either. Just because he grew up with Sam, and they had shared bedrooms (and beds) many times before, didn't mean he was okay with getting a hard on in the same room as his little brother. Especially since he would want to get off, and wanking in the same room was just as creepy if not more. He considered the bathroom vaguely, before deciding to pass on it. The mood wasn't right.

Dean groaned into the pillow, "I'm turning into some chick that needs an atmosphere? What the hell?" He thought to himself.

By the time Dean was sure that any self-respecting library would start to open, he had already dressed, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He woke Sam up a good two hours early, blaming it on the fact that his little brother might want to take a leisurely bubble bath. Dean made a mental deal with himself, part jokingly, that if he, Sam, and Cas could all get along today then he would reward himself with some quality alone time.

The fact that Castiel didn't appear in their hotel room put him on edge. He dragged Sam out to the Impala, and was slightly surprised to find Castiel in the back seat ready to go. "Excellent."

Dean knew the entire drive there that Castiel was staring at the back of his neck. Out of his promise to himself, he let it go and didn't let it bother him. They were going to check out the library that victim's boss had informed them of. "You know, the blonde chick was coming on pretty strong. How do we know she isn't the succubus?"

"Did she succeed in seducing either of you?" Castiel leaned forward slightly, watching the large building of the library come into view.

"No."

"Then she isn't the one. The real one will succeed, or at least come close enough that they will leave no doubt."

Dean sighed and pulled into a parking spot. He stepped out of the car and jogged up the steps. The building was old, done in brick with large, stained glass windows. It looked like a Church, except it lacked a sort of oppressive, religious feel. Instead, the round corner that held a spiral staircase and the peaked roof looked more like a castle than anything. With four stories, it was slightly smaller than a high school, but still the size of two or three large homes put together. Dean pushed open the front door and knew that Sam and Castiel were right behind him by the reflection in the glass. He stepped into a cool area with a lobby like appearance.

A tall man with olive skin, black hair, and glasses worn low on the nose looked up at them, and then back down at the book in his hand. The man waited until they were in front of him before looking up and giving a lopsided grin. He crossed his arms and leaned forward slightly. Ignoring both Sam and Dean, he turned his attention towards Castiel.

The angel tilted his head to the side slightly, before his eyes widened for a moment.

The librarian's grin grew as he whispered. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours, _angel boy_." His eyes were swallowed with black, and then returned to their original hazel.

The only thing that kept Dean from removing his dagger from its sheath was the crushing force of Castiel's hand on his wrist.

* * *

So. The season finale. No nudity. Sad Dean. Undead Castiel. Mixed feelings?

Actually, I really liked it.

I mean, I was hoping for nudity, but I lived without it.

Thanks for reading everyone!

Alika613

PS: I hope you enjoy my running commentary before and after each chapter. I think it's narcissism that has me writing about my life and opinion on the episodes as though it is of great importance to the readers what I think, haha.


	7. Chapter 7

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

VII

A/N: So, for those of you that don't know, the character Castiel was modeled after the angel Cassiel. They changed the second 's' to a 't' because the show airs on a Thursday. Now the angel Cassiel is the angel of Temperance, solitude and tears.

Do you know what "temperance" means? Commonly it means abstaining from alcohol, but it also means self-control when faced with your desire.

That's just great. Castiel is the angel of "I don't give in to sex." Seriously?

A hearty thank you goes out to my beta, drkphoenyx. Thank you!

* * *

The librarian's grin grew as he whispered. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours, _angel boy_." His eyes were swallowed with black, and then returned to their original hazel.

The only thing that kept Dean from removing his dagger from its sheath was the crushing force of Castiel's hand on his wrist.

The librarian turned his head slightly to look at Dean, his eyes lowering slightly to look at where Dean's hand grasped a dagger handle. The silver blade and its sheath were tucked into the waistband of his jeans. The hunter's green eyes darted up and narrowed at the incubus. The man ignored him and turned to look over his shoulder. Spotting an older woman with long layers of blonde hair, he asked for her to take over the front desk. She smiled and said sure.

He walked by the hunters and Castiel, gesturing with a jab of his chin to follow him. Sam followed, his own hands shoved in his pockets, and Castiel gave Dean a calculated look. His lips were slightly parted, as though he was going to say something, but then let go of Dean's wrist and followed too. Dean shook his head slightly. He released the dagger and dropped his hand, following warily behind.

The incubus cut through some rows of book shelves. He produced a small key from the breast pocket of an unassuming, light blue button down shirt, before reaching to unlock a door. The door swung open to reveal a small office with a high ceiling. The incubus moved to sit behind a desk before looking up at the ones who had followed, but had yet to enter. "That's okay," he said, nodding comically, "if you feel you need a clear exit that's okay. After all, there's nothing conspicuous about three men standing around a doorway, peering in. Nobody will wonder why you don't come in and make yourself at home."

He leaned back and frowned when the only reaction he got was Sam straightening to his full, Sasquatch height. The incubus turned to Castiel, "I'm going by the name James Rowley. Who are you?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed slightly. "I am called Castiel."

"James" looked surprised. His eyebrows rose for a second before returning to an uncaring position. He looked Castiel up and down before frowning. "Your vessel looks fine. Do you need a new one bred?" Dean looked up at Castiel. It had been a while since he'd last seen the angel look so flushed, even slightly nervous. "No," Cas answered. "My vessel line is fine."

"Good to hear."

The incubus waited, then looked over the others, his brows furrowing. He blinked, slowly. "So… what do you want with me?"

"Are you aware that three girls are dead?" Sam might have a little bit of a baby face, but his voice was deep in a way that sometimes surprised people.

"Not because of me." James looked at Castiel again, James's gaze lingered in a way that made Dean want to hide the shorter man from the gaze. "I stand nothing to gain from dead bodies-"

Castiel interrupted. "You lost control." The way Castiel spoke, it was hard to tell if it was a statement or a question.

James laughed before leaning forward. "I don't lose control. I eat when I'm hungry, but I don't go insane. I leave them alive, and if I might say, feeling better than when I found them." James licked his lips suggestively, though Dean couldn't tell if it was aimed at one of them or in response to a memory. He swiveled around in his chair, and Dean tensed, still ready for an attack. All that James did though, was reach for a picture frame, rub his thumb affectionately over the glass, and then turned it around so that the hunters and angel could see.

It was a woman, full figured wearing a plain white tee-shirt. She had large brown eyes and a full mouth, and brown hair in a simple pony tail. Dean's eyes narrowed at it. "What is this?"

James snorted. "It's called monogamy." The corner of Dean's mouth twitched and tilted down. Coupled with the eyes, Dean's look spelled disbelief and vengeance. James took this in stride, but ignored him all the same as his eyes flickered over to Castiel. "It goes against every fiber of my being, but if swans can do it, I might as well give it a shot."

"With _her_?" A doubtful green eyed gaze was shot at the picture.

That struck a chord. He looked up at Dean with black eyes. "Unlike humans, I don't suffer from the plus-size hate. I'm not prejudice in the slightest, fat or skinny; black, white, or Asian; male or female; old or young. As a general rule I don't do dead people, animals, or kids, but other than that…" He glared. "I'm a lover, not a fighter." He sighed and looked away. "What do you want from me? I didn't kill anyone."

Castiel frowned. "Why should we believe you?"

"You had access to one of the victims, a bookworm named Claire." Sam tilted his head slightly.

James swore and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He growled softly, then tossed his chair back as he stood up and loomed over his desk. His lip curled back as he snarled. "I didn't kill anyone!" He turned to look at Castiel once again. "The next time you want to accuse me of something, _Daddy_, there's no need for more than two of you. The four of you are throwing my mojo out of whack.

"Now… Get out of here!"

* * *

Castiel stood outside the door to the Winchester's hotel room. He'd been there for an hour now. He had stepped back and around a corner to avoid Sam as he left in the Impala. Now he waited around in the freezing air, wondering what he was supposed to do. Ideally, he should be trying his hardest to find the incubus responsible for the deaths. He still wasn't sure if he believed that James was innocent, and he didn't know how to prove it one way or another.

He hesitated for a moment, and then willed himself to suddenly appear in the hotel room. Dean didn't even look up. He just continued to go through his collection of knives, sharpening them from where he sat on the edge of his bed.

"Took you long enough," Dean said.

Castiel tilted his head. "You knew I was there?"

Dean looked up and paused. Cas didn't need to know that his biceps felt warm and fuzzy whenever he dropped by. When had he first felt Cas appear? Was it before or after Sam left? "Sam saw you, he called and told me you were lurking around."

Castiel frowned but didn't question it. He watched the way Dean's calloused fingers worked their way over the blades.

"I am sorry."

Dean's eyes widened as he looked up at Cas. Guilt? Well it wasn't exactly new from Cas, but it was a rare emotion for him to show. "What for?"

"The complications with this job." Castiel wasn't sure if he put it right, but Dean knew what he was trying to say.

"The lines were blurred long before you showed up. This is just one more job where the answer isn't an obvious one." Dean stopped and looked up at Cas. His green eyes revealed weariness. "You can sit down, Cas." Dean tipped the edge of a blade in a gesture towards the chair, but Castiel either missed it or ignored him as he sat down beside the hunter.

Dean pushed away the work and leaned back. Castiel watched the way he tipped his head back to reveal his tan neck, the gentle way his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. The tee-shirt he wore today was white; a detail Castiel didn't know why he bothered noticing. "You ever need one?" Castiel's blue eyes roamed up that neck, to where Dean's lips moved as her spoke.

"Need what?"

Dean pinched his lips shut. "A demon to keep your vessel line going." Dean frowned. "I thought you could just pop into anyone?"

Castiel looked away, trying to remember his past vessels. He was being honest when he said that Jimmy was a devout man who had prayed to be of service, but more than that, Cas _fit_ in that vessel. He also fit Claire. Before them there had been a man, Jean, in France, and others. "It's not so much that I can't, but some are better intended for me. It's not like my vessel line is going to die without some interference. Michael fits in you; it's not like just anyone will do."

Dean flopped all the way back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. The way he had moved back had dragged the edge of his shirt up a little bit, revealing a strip of skin and a dusting of hair below his navel. Castiel's fingers curled for a moment before he looked back up at Dean's face.

Dean spoke again. "What did he mean when he said we were throwing off his 'mojo'?"

"He was probably referring to his ability to read sexual preference."

Dean noticeably tensed, but Cas wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching so intently. "Is that how they seduce people? By figuring out what you're into?"

"Yes. It's an invaluable tool when your life relies on that."

"So…" Dean lifted a hand and gestured vaguely. "The four of us…?" He peeked out from under his arm at Castiel's face. He thought for sure he had caught Cas looking at his stomach, but then the angel frowned and turned away.

Dean ignored the silence and pushed on. "So there was me… and Sammy…

"And then there was Jimmy…"

Castiel's head hung low. Dean sat up. "So then the fourth one was you, Cas."

Castiel shook his head slightly. "No. I don't—"

"Don't lie, you were into that stripper." Dean rubbed his palms over his jeans. "So, is it you or Jimmy that likes to be called 'Daddy'?"

Castiel glared at Dean. It was rather endearing, more so because Dean knew he was right and that Cas was just angry because he wasn't as immune to sexuality as he had thought. And the bastard had had the gall to talk about Dean and Anna? "Aww, come on Cas. He was looking right at you. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"It's not me."

"I'm sure," Dean smiled and clapped his hand on Castiel's shoulder. He let out a deep chuckle. "You freak Cas."

Castiel tilted his head to the side as he turned to look at Dean straight on. His lips were slightly parted in a confused way, like he wasn't sure what to say in order to set things right. He pouted slightly. He leaned forward in a way that was more curious than aggressive. It reminded Dean of the various times that Cas had been too close, and the one occasion when he had planted his hand firmly over Dean's mouth to keep him from yelling. This was different though, in an awkward yet gentle way.

Dean didn't know what Cas was looking at, but he wasn't making eye contact. Cas could have been looking at anything, Dean's collarbone, his jaw, his mouth. Dean paused for a moment before pulling his hand from Castiel's shoulder and standing up.

The hunter flinched slightly when he realized more than his arms were hot.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was hell to finish because Word got all confused and wouldn't let me remove these wacky bars it kept placing throughout the chapter. I had to move, copy and paste a bunch of stuff over and over again to get most bars to move, because it would put them after every ENTER. I was ready to kill something! Naturally, you won't see any of this as the bars are removed when I upload chapters to FF, but I hope you feel my pain. –Alika613


	8. Chapter 8

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

VIII

A/N: Oh, um, this chapter validates the MATURE rating, so if y'all are children, masturbation haters, or for any reason don't want to read about happy pants time- leave. Or skip it. Your choice. Otherwise have fun, Sorry it's a little late, but I joined a Supernatural art exchange and I've been working on a Supernatural mini Destiel comic.

Thank you drkphoenyx for being my beta!

* * *

For once Castiel was able to pick up Dean's subtle hints. Cas left, quietly too. Dean swallowed and leaned against a nightstand, putting his head in his hands. Was it adrenaline? His stomach was clenching in an eager way, the muscles tightening like they expected something to happen. Dean sighed and slipped a hand under his shirt. It was a small move, running his thumb over his abdominals. He licked his lips. Cas had left and Sam was still gone.

And he so fucking deserved it.

Dean turned and crossed to the bathroom. He flipped the light switch and turned on the hot water. He reached his arms over his head and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling it off. He looked up at himself in the mirror, his light hair slightly tousled, and eyes hazy. He blinked a few times, wondering what had possibly come over him to make his face look like that. He ran a hand through his hair before letting his hand trail down his chest.

He reached for his belt buckle, undid it, and then slid the leather from the jean loops. He let himself imagine that it was someone else pulling off the belt, pushing their finger in between the waistband of his jeans and his hot skin. They would grip the fabric and pull him in tight, spreading their legs for him so that he fit perfectly against them. Dean growled slightly when he realized he was already hard.

He unbuttoned, unzipped, and then slid his pants down his thigh and around his ankles. Stepping out of his pants, he reached a hand into the shower to test the temperature. Still too cool; damn cheap hotels. He leaned against the sink, and moved one of his hands down to cup himself through his boxers. He let out a short breath as his cock swelled and pushed against the fabric.

He gripped the sink, and moved his hand back up his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek and rubbed the palm of his hand over his pecs. He let himself enjoy the tugging sensation on his nipples. Having been with many women, several of which who had played with his nipples, he had started to like playing with the sensitive flesh. He tilted his head back and rolled a nipple between his fingers, making the desire grow deeper in the pit of his stomach.

He tested the water again, finally hot. He pulled his boxers off, finally freeing his erect cock. He ignored it, deciding to take things slower than usual. In a weird sense he was afraid he'd ruin it, as if he actually had a lover to impress. He pulled back the curtain and stepped under the water. He groaned slightly, and tilted his head back so that the water ran down throat and over his collarbone. He let his eyes roam over the white tiles printed with small blue flowers, before shutting his eyes and pressing his head against the cool wall. What had he been fantasizing about before? Oh, yes.

He imagined himself leaning out of the driver's seat in the Impala. A hand reached out and gripped his bicep, pulling him forward. A hot, shaky breath grazed his cheek. Dean groaned and swiftly leaned forward to catch his lover's lips. He shifted, lifting himself so that he could press his body against the other person. They gripped his arm tighter as he sucked on their bottom lip, tugging on it slightly with his teeth before they relented and opened their mouth, letting their tongue meet and wrap around his own. He breathed at that moment and his lover seeming to swallow it, and let out its own shaky pant in return. He moaned as they pressed their tongue into his mouth, the boldness turned him on in a way that made it impossible to keep him from running a hand through their short hair. He grabbed a tuft and hoisted them up slightly, sealing their mouths tighter over each other. Nails dug into his bicep and a low growl filled Dean's mouth as he sucked on his lover's tongue.

Dean groaned and bit his bottom lip. He slid his hand back over his chest and reached for his nipple. He tugged and twisted the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. His cock twitched as he molested his chest. Splaying his hand he quickly squeezed his pectoral and then let his hand trail down his abdomen.

The hand that had been clenching Dean's bicep moved upward. For a moment Dean tried to pull back as the hand wrapped itself around his neck. It was stirring to have the strong grip cradling his head, keeping him in place as their tongues moved over each others. But when the hand twisted so that their thumb could run over Dean's Adam apple, he moaned and thrust his pelvis and the body underneath him responded by parting their legs slightly and using their other hand against the small of his back to push their hips flush together. Dean growled and thrust his hips forward, satisfied when his lover jerked their head back to let out a whimper and moved the hand on his back under his shirt. Dean was distinctly aware of the short nails and calluses that scraped near the curve of his ass as that hand slipped under and burned hot against his flesh.

Dean's fingers finally reached the tip of his cock. He jerked the rigid shaft a few times, pulling back his foreskin. With his other arm in front of his face, he pushed his mouth against it to keep himself quiet as he rubbed his thumb over the slit. "Fuck," he mumbled as he circled the head of his cock. Wrapping his fist around the hard length, he twisted. Gasping against his arm, he was surprised at the needy sounds that he moaned.

Dean pressed his lips roughly against the corner of his lover's mouth. His nose grazed their cheekbone. The hand on his neck fell down between their bodies and pressed between their bodies. Dean let out a shaky breath as that hand slid under the waistband of his pants and boxers. Fingertips grazed the base of his cock. Dean opened his green eyes and looked at his partner. Light shown through the Impala's windows and made the cerulean eyes shine back at him.

White tiles printed with small blue flowers stared back at him when he broke from the fantasy and opened his eyes.

"Nngh!" Dean thrust into his fist, his hips picking up speed. He took his arm from the wall and began to stroke and pinch his nipples again. His balls tightened, seeming to pull towards his body. He growled under his breath and twisted his wrist, sending sparks of pleasure that made his toes curl.

"Fuck, Christ." Dean threw his head back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He threw his whole body into the thrusts, and let the pleasure swallow him. His orgasm ripped through him, his semen shooting out in thick, creamy bursts that the water quickly rinsed away.

It took him a few moments for his muscles to go slack after they stopped spasming. He lifted his arms up and placed them on the wall, his head hanging between them as he relaxed for the first time in months.

Hot water seared his tan skin.

* * *

Sam was pretty sure that librarians weren't supposed to work this late. He had checked the library's hours, and they were only open until eight. It was 9:47 now and the window on the first floor office was still lit up. While people had filed out at closing, Sam had yet to see James Rowley.

The light in the window flickered for a moment and then someone, too far away to see clearly, shut off the light. Sam straightened in the Impala. He was parked two buildings over and while having a good view of the back of the library and its parking lot, he was certain James wouldn't see him. Whether or not to trust James would be learned relatively quickly by tailing him. Sam turned the key when lights flashed signaling that James had started his own car. Sam waited to see which way he would pull out of the parking lot. He dimmed the lights when James drove his sedan towards and by the parking lot that he was parked in.

Sam waited a moment before pulling out, making certain that he was far enough away that James wouldn't notice him. With only a few other cars on the road it was harder to make sure he wasn't noticed, so he made a right hand turn intending to pull back onto the main road a little ways later. The road wasn't a residential one, so he was fairly certain that James wasn't going to leave the road. Sam took a left, the roads formed an easy to follow grid. One more left and then a right and then back to following James.

He was now on the road perpendicular to James. He glanced at the clock for a moment. As he looked up the road light shone behind a figure. Sam swore and slammed on the breaks as he neared the person standing in the middle of the road. His headlights lit up a pale face, eyes narrowed and shaggy black hair blew back from his face as the Impala skid to a stop.

Sam snarled as he flung open the car door. He stood and stepped towards James, who hadn't even flinched as the car barreled towards him. Sam walked up to James, leaving the Impala running in the middle of the road.

"Following me? Is that your sly way of discovering my motives?" James asked.

"I'm surprised you saw me."

"_Felt_ you." James' eyes softened and his lips parted slightly. "What do you want from me?"

"The truth?"

"I can't prove a negative; I can't prove I'm not the bad guy. But that isn't all that's bothering you, is it?"

Sam straightened, "Demons can't love."

"Is that a statement or a question?" James tilted his head to the side slightly. "While you're asking, why don't you make my job much easier and tell me the answer you want. Yes they can love, or no they can't?"

"I already know they can't, they're just good liars."

"Most demons may not be capable of love, but I'm a new breed of animal. What do you suspect, that I sneak out at night and rape people? Why bother, when there's already a warm body next to me."

"You're evil."

"Again, is that a statement or a question?"

Sam sighed, his hot breath showing in the frigid air. He frowned when he noticed that James didn't make the same warm smoke. "You rape people for a living."

"I make babies for a living, and don't try that bullshit with me. People say no because they are shy. You don't have to be shy with me because I'm genuinely attracted to anyone with sexual energy. People say no because they want to remain pure, but since they think I'm just a dream, no harm no fowl. People say no because they fear STDs or strangers; I'm the cleanest, friendliest, stranger that they'll ever dream of. Don't bother with morality or ethics. I make people feel good, and I keep friends of your angel boy with a vessel they might otherwise not have."

Sam looked at James' eyes. Megan, Ruby, neither had a tell, no sign that they weren't telling the truth. James looked just as sincere as they had.

James smiled, looking over his shoulder as a car drove by and slowed down to watch them. James turned back to Sam. "Tell your angel that if it weren't for me, dear angel Haamiah would be without a vessel here on Earth." James turned away, returning to his parked car.

Sam called after James. "What is Haamiah the angel of?"

"Integrity!"

* * *

Is this chapter okay? I feel like there's something wrong with it. Is somebody horrible out of character?

-Alika613


	9. Chapter 9

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

IX

A/N: You're probably wondering why this took so long to update. Simple. Instead of writing a chapter and uploading it, I decided I wanted to be sure to work out the kinks—so I wrote a sort of plan of how I want things to go, an outline if you will, and then I wrote a cheat sheet so as to keep all the characters straight, who's dead and who isn't, and then I wrote out some scenes I wanted to use but wasn't ready to use just yet.

Thank you drkphoenyx for being my beta!

* * *

When Sam returned to the hotel room he found Dean had already crashed. Dean looked oddly content and had managed to wrap his body around one of the pillows. Sam sighed, he could barely make out the shape of their room in the moonlight, but he figured if Dean was finally sleeping well he would have to be an asshole to wake him up. He carefully shut the door, tried to see where his own bed was, and successfully rammed his knee into a bedside table. He grunted a little, and was surprised that Dean was still fast asleep. _Happy_ that Dean was finally sleeping well.

Wait, what if he was dead?

Sam froze and held his breath, but no, Dean was still alive; his torso lifted rhythmically as he breathed. Relieved, the younger brother ran a hand through his hair and managed to feel out where his bed was. He was about to lie down when a voice called out his name.

"Christ Cas, don't sneak up on me like that." Sam glanced at Dean, who shook his shoulder a little as if he was trying to brush them off. Sam turned away and squinted. Where was the angel anyways?

Sam noticed a trench coat moving gently in the wind and Castiel peering at him through the large glass window. Sam blinked. He could just make out parts of Castiel through the gap in the curtains. Cas tilted his head, looking slightly perplexed, and then left the window.

Sam groaned and moved towards the door. Opening it gently, he peered outside to find the angel waiting for him.

"Hi, Cas… you uh… called?"

Cas glanced behind Sam, towards that bed that Dean was sleeping in. Sam took this to mean that they needed privacy, were going to wake Dean, or Cas was too fixated on his older brother; regardless, he stepped back out into the cold, and shut the door behind him. The step Sam took towards Cas made him feel slightly awkward about the way he towered above the angel, and the way that the angel had to tilt his head back to look up at him. He moved forward a little bit more to prompt the angel to step back, once again in front of the hotel window.

"It's about James Rowley, the incubus."

Sam's eyes widened for a second, and he wondered if perhaps Castiel knew that Sam had followed the incubus. "What do you think?"

"I think he's innocent, as innocent as a demon can be that is."

"Is this based on something new, or—"

"Yes," Castiel glanced once towards the window and Dean, his blue eyes appearing wary, "another woman has been attacked and killed."

Sam's stomach tightened. He was used to death, but when someone died _after_ they came to the resce it was like a slap to the face. "Who?"

"Christine Fecteau. I believe you met."

She had been Claire's boss, the blonde bombshell with an expensive looking manicure. She was the hottie that Dean wasn't interested in. "How does that rule James Rowley out as a suspect?"

"Because," Cas turned away from the window, "you were watching him when she was attacked. He couldn't have gotten away to do it."

Sam stepped back for a moment, putting his chilled hands into his pockets. Nodding his head absent mindedly, he asked "How did you know I was watching James?"

"Nobody takes such a long time running a simple errand. _That_ and I'm not incompetent."

Somehow, Sam didn't know what to say to that.

* * *

"Back so soon Agent Page, Agent Hamilton?" The rather skinny coroner looked up from where he had been doing the initial examination of an African American woman. Upon seeing that the two FBI agents had returned, he adjusted the white sheet over her body and face and tore off his gloves. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Dean's smile pulled tight, "We heard you had another body, one similar to Claire Campbell…"

"Ah, yes, the rape case, cause of death," he paused and walked towards the far wall where the bodies were stored on slabs that could be pulled out, "still unknown I'm afraid, and I don't suspect I'll be coming up with any answers any time soon."

He reached for one of the slab handles and proceeded to pull it out. "I haven't had a chance to take a look at her. She got bypassed by the Chief of Police's niece. Afraid I'll have to rule that one a suicide." His eyes glanced towards the other dead woman in the room. He shook his head slightly, "You're more than welcome to take a look at the body, but it's the same as the others. Vaginal tearing, bite mark on the neck, a few hickies… What bothers me are that there are no cuts on the hands, no bruising on the wrists; nothing to indicate that she was raped. With no signs saying she fought back or was pinned down, I'd say she either had very rough consensual sex or didn't struggle whatsoever. Perhaps she was threatened with a gun, but there's nothing to show that she struggled. I'll run a tox screen to see if she was drugged, but the other girls were negative."

Sam smiled, hesitantly, "Doc? The bite on her neck, post or pre-mortem?"

"Pre-mortem, judging by the blood that pumped out of the wound. I'm guessing she died shortly after as there's no sign of healing, nor is there any sign that someone tried to clean or bandage it."

"And this would be painful, yes?"

The coroner nodded, thoughtfully. "Well, you know, some people are into the pain kink, but a bite so hard it bleeds at the sensitive tissue of the neck? Yes, it hurt, my guess is a lot. It's difficult to measure pain, everyone has a different threshold."

Sam thanked him and turned back towards the body, pretending to give the words careful consideration until the coroner left to attend to other business. Sam straightened and raised his brows at Dean.

The older brother shrugged. "I don't know. Isn't he supposed to, you know, keep them around? He does it slowly, draining them of their energy. She was fine just two days ago."

"I think it goes back to something James said. He said that one of the things he does is disguise it as a dream. What if that's what this incubus does? He disguises it as a dream, but when he bites their neck the pain is enough to snap them out of it. He has no choice but to get kill them."

Green eyes narrowed at Sam in confusion. "When did he say that?"

Sam shifted his weight and shrugged, trying to brush it off. "Last night, when I tailed him. He confronted me; it was part of his justification that what he does isn't really rape. He says that since they think it isn't real, no harm no foul."

"You were tailing James? I thought you said you were going to the store?"

Sam frowned, and then raised a brow. "How long do you think it takes to go to the store?"

The younger man was completely thrown by what happened to his older brother's face. It started as surprise, the green eyes widening, then turned to slight embarrassment… Wait, was Dean blushing? And then it became a mixture of guilt and shame, as Dean looked down and nibbled on the inside of his cheek. "I was… distracted."

Sam was reminded of Dean cuddling his pillow. "Sleeping like a baby?"

Now it was Dean who was confused. "What?"

"Okay, that's it. We need to communicate more often. I should probably stop lying about where I'm going," the last part Sam mumbled. He tossed a smile over his shoulder at the coroner who was looking at them with slight concern. "We should probably get out of here."

Dean nodded at the coroner, who seemed to ease his discomfert a little bit. He pushed the slab back into the wall, watching the blonde disappear, and realized for a brief, guilty, moment that he was hardly sad. Sure, it was a shame someone died, but he didn't feel any differently than if he had read about it in the newspaper. Somehow, he thought he should feel worse since he had met her, but it was as though he couldn't summon the emotions.

He sighed and left, following after Sam. They walked down the hall and then up a few stairs. The receptionist at the front desk smiled quickly at them before answering a phone. The cold air had a way of grabbing Dean and shaking him, waking him up in a shocking way. Dean still wasn't alert enough to realize that Sam had stopped short just outside the door. Consequently Dean walked into him, he swore, and then peered around his gargantuan brother.

A man in trousers, dress shoes, and a long, wool coat was leaning against the Impala. Even with cigarette smoke floating in front of his face, it was impossible not to recognize him as James Rowley.

"Get off my car," Dean's voice was flat, a tone that normally intimidated men and women, but James smiled and stood up.

"What are you doing here?"

James still had a faint smile as he stepped between the two brothers and turned towards Sam. "Direct and straight to the point; I like that in a man." Sam faltered slightly when he heard that, and gave Dean a confused look as though to ask if his big brother thought that what James had said sounded like a come-on. "I'm going to kill this incubus for you, consider it a favor. All I need from you two and the angel boy," James took a long drag on his cigarette, the time it took seemed to be in hopes of annoying the two brothers, "is to track the mother fucker down."

"What, don't you have any clue who it is?" Dean's green eyes narrowed.

James shrugged, "Perhaps if I meet him face to face I'll get a sense, but as far as being able to lead you straight to him, no, I don't have a clue who or where he is."

"Cas says there's only a few of you left, that you're going extinct. You'd think you'd be a tight knit group then, having to rely on each other and all."

James furrowed his brows at Dean, his blue eyes lit up slightly. "Cas? Is that what you call him? Cute. As for the other incubi and succubi, we don't keep in contact. We're rather like distant cousins; we aren't as fraternal as the angels. The demons keep in contact with each other most likely out of mob mentality, that and they stand to gain things from each other. I don't gain anything from my fellow incubi. It's rather like we each have our own hunting grounds." He took another drag, slightly thoughtful. He held the cigarette not like one would expect a man to, but the way a woman would, delicately and with his wrist bent. He turned his head to side slightly to release the smoke.

Dean couldn't tell if this was an attempt at politely blowing the smoke away from them.

James sighed, "I would hate for another incubus to cockblock me, or steal my prey."

Sam laughed nervously, and looked towards Dean. Perhaps referring to people as "prey" would send Dean over the edge and he's stab the demon, but no, Dean seemed more relaxed. He was still annoyed with James, but he didn't go for him with his dagger.

"I thought for sure you'd take a swing at me."

"I restrained myself," Dean glared at James.

"Color me impressed," James tossed the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. He looked up, head tilted all the way back so that he was looking at the sky, and he ran a hand through his shaggy black hair. "Oh Castiel, Castiel, wherefore art thou Castiel?"

Dean didn't miss the fact that James knew where Castiel had appeared even before his arms tingled. He watched as James smiled and stepped towards the alley where Castiel stood, and for a moment, Dean wasn't certain he could keep himself from taking a swing at James.

It didn't help that Castiel had yet to break eye contact with the demon.

* * *

I like this chapter. Though it's a little short, I didn't want to keep going because I like where the chapter ended.

On a few random notes, on the traffic information for this story it says I have a few visitors in Bhutan! Seriously? I think may be confused, but if I do indeed have readers in/from Bhutan that's very exciting! I also have a few Australians and some Germans! Do you know how cool I think that is? Most of the visitors are American, but 16 different countries have visited my story in December. I don't want to embarrass anyone, but I think it's cool that I have visitors from places I hadn't heard of before! (Ahem, Trinidad and Tobago are islands in the Caribbean right?)

Also, do you guys want just the chapters, or are you interested in me posting the cheat sheets I made? I mean, is anyone lost about the characters without a reference sheet?

-Alika613


	10. Chapter 10

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

X

A/N: Guess what? We've made it to chapter 10! Thanks for sticking with me, and please review! I'm throwing in a change of point of view for kicks, and, oh my Dean, jealousy?

Tons of thanks go to drkpoenyx for being my beta.

* * *

For a moment James forgot where he was. For a brief moment he forgot he was crossing the street, forgot he was with hunters. For a brief moment he saw blunt nails scraping skin, needy mouth searching out another needy mouth, a shift and a muscled body was on top of a receptive, aroused one. Then the moment was over and James had to catch himself so that he might not appear as distracted as he was.

Normally reading others' sexual preferences was something mundane. He would spot a woman at a bar and he'd close his eyes and he'd delve into her psyche, where he might find James Franco, or John Cena. Occasionally he might find a lesbian, or a fetish for older men, leather, whatever. Sure, just being near someone usually gave him a little insight, enough so that large groups of people were uncomfortable and confusing. It was rare though, that another's fantasy could be so intense, so vibrant, so provocative…

Usually the fantasies of his prey were whispered softly into his ear the moment he was in their presence, and if they were too shy or too jumbled he searched inside them for some more information. Instead this fantasy had forced itself on him, had screamed out at him, and had rattled the cage in the subconscious that keeps such eroticism locked far away. It took him by surprise to realize that he was in the presence of a very desperate, lustful soul.

James could barely recall the last time a soul had pined so much for the object of its affection.

"You agree to kill the incubus when we find it?" Castiel's gaze flickered slightly over James.

James searched through the angel's blue eyes for any sign, and lustful symptom that said the fantasy belonged to him. When he didn't find it he sighed softly. "Yes, I'll drain him dry."

James let his mind wander when the hunters began to talk. He had little to offer in finding the incubus so he left that in their capable hands. His blue eyes roamed over Castiel's form. The idea that angels are beautiful is a load of bull. They are orbs of pure light with voices a hundred times more destructive than a siren. How can such a creature be beautiful? Angels are only as attractive as their vessels, and yet Castiel had a vessel worth admiring.

Not that James could see much below the trench coat, but hey, that's what imaginations are for. Castiel's vessel had classic good looks. A masculine shaped face, bright blue eyes and dark hair; it was a look that James had used when creating his body. In a way it impressed James when he noticed that the angel lost none of his attractiveness even when flanked by equally handsome men.

But really, a trench coat? A tie is one thing, it adds to the fantasy of roughly pulling someone towards you, of taking it off and tying wrists tightly in it. But a trench coat? It hides too much. How in the hell was anyone going to be able to checkout that ass if it was always hidden from view beneath that miserable coat?

The ease, in seduction, comes from knowing what the audience wants. The majority of people want neither a slut, nor a priest, so it's important to look at least somewhat classy while showing some skin. Hide too much, and your audience doesn't feel rewarded. Show too much, and your audience feels cheated out of the opportunity to use their imagination. Castiel clearly hadn't mastered the balance.

"The coat isn't glued on is it?"

The hunters and the angel turned to look at James. Dean's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

James tried again. "Cas, the coat, is it glued on?"

Cas cocked his head to the side and then rubbed the fabric of the coat between his thumb and forefinger. "No."

"So you can take it off?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Good to know…. Carry on…."

_So there's hope for him yet,_ James mused. He looked the angel up and down quickly, and then slowed, letting his eyes wander on the way back down. Eyes passed where he imagined the angel's sternum was, over what would be smooth skin, past where he thought a perfect navel was, down-

A horn blared and James jumped for a moment. He had backed a yard or two until stepping off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. He cursed for a second, trying to breathe. There had been emotions, distrust, anger, frustration, and they had rung through his head much like most fantasies did. He looked up wildly. Castiel was looking at him with confusion, and Sam looked the same.

Dean wasn't looking at him.

The older hunter had his body turned towards Castiel, his chin low so that he wasn't making eye contact with the angel.

"I have to go," James muttered.

For a moment James was afraid of Dean Winchester. He turned away, ran away. He breathed great gulps of air that he didn't need, he stumbled a few times in his haste, and he only stopped when he found himself alone. No sex, lust, or eroticism ringing throughout his head. He considered how strong the _possessiveness _would have to be for him to pick up on it. A warning to back off so strong it sent him stumbling into the road. He considered that it was Dean's fantasy. He considered the fact that romance was probably long dead for the hunter. He thought about how much Dean distrusted him and how that fantasy had been raw, and emotional, and desperate.

And for a brief moment James empathized with Dean, because there was a very human part of him that begged to be loved.

* * *

"Maybe we could go out to eat, stop at a diner, something other than bringing takeout home with us." Sam was sitting at the small table in their hotel room, laptop open. The clacking of the keys had paused for some time and Dean suspected that that meant he wasn't coming up with much in the "how to find an incubus" search.

"Yeah, we should probably take a break."

Sam startled a little, as though surprised Dean agreed, and then smiled as he stood up. "Find anything useful?"

"No. Except that if we were in the Amazon we'd be looking for a river dolphin that entices girls to swim naked with it."

Sam pulled on his coat and grimaced. "You know, the theory we're working on is that he kills these girls to cover his tracks after he loses control, but the impression I get from James is that they don't lose control. Sure, James could be lying, but he doesn't stand anything to gain from lying to us. The impression I get from James is that incubi feed, and then they move on. What is so wrong with this guy that he loses control?"

"He wants it too much," Dean murmured. He saw the way James looked up and down Cas, like he couldn't _wait. _"There's something wrong with this guy, he's ill, or too hungry." Dean and Sam made their way from the motel room, down the stairs, and across the parking lot to the car.

"We should call Bobby, see if he's heard anything about any hunters going after incubi, or hunters going through New Hampshire. If a hunter went after him and failed to kill him, the incubus might be trying to recuperate."

"Yeah, letting Bobby in is a good call. Hah, he gets antsy when he hasn't heard from us in a while." Dean opened the door to the Impala and slid into the front seat, starting the car.

Dean drove by a couple food joints that didn't look too promising, but in a way Dean enjoyed the time driving. Conversation with Sam was easier than usual, despite the way Dean's chest tightened every so often when he thought of Castiel. "I don't think Castiel should be alone with James."

"Huh?" Sam turned towards Dean and raised a brow. "Why?"

"Well you know, James says he doesn't have a preference. So, since he swings both ways, or I guess all ways, he can't really be trusted with Cas."

"You think Cas can't handle him?"

Dean chuckled. "Is that a trick question? Of course Cas can't handle him! Cas would send all the wrong signals, not even know he was sending signals, not recognize when James was sending signals. He'd probably accidentally turn James on or something." Dean remembered trapping Cas to his bed, the way the cerulean eyed angel leaned forward, fell onto his hands and knees.

Sam shrugged, but looked curiously at Dean. If Dean could suggest that someone could be turned on by Cas without Dean making some sort of gagging noise or mock disgust either meant that Dean was maturing or that Dean's perception of Cas was changing. "Cas hasn't even had sex with a woman, I highly doubt he'd let James deflower him."

"Isn't James just thinking about deflowering Cas bad enough?"

"Haha, so now we're just trying to protect Castiel's image?"

"Yes," Dean sighed. "No? I don't know, I just don't like the idea of James thinking he can have a go at Cas."

"To be fair, he's probably thought about having a go at you too."

Dean jerked slightly and turned to look at Sam, mouth gaping slightly. "What? No. No." He shook his head.

"Oh come on, he lives off of sex! You think you haven't crossed his man-whore mind?"

"No," Dean raised a hand and gestured vaguely. "Because I'm not gay, and even if I was, I would be a top, and since James is a top… well it just doesn't make any sense, he should be looking for a bottom, or something."

Sam let a sly smile make its way across his face. "You think James is a top?"

"Well yeah. Don't you?"

"Nah, he kind of comes off as a really demanding bottom, like a weird power-control bottom, a topping-from-the-bottom bottom. You know? A bossy, bitchy, relentless bottom."

Dean stared at Sam for a moment, which wasn't a great idea since he was still driving, and yet what Sam had said was too bizarre. "I think you should get your head checked, Sammy. Do you think about James often?"

"Apparently no more than you."

"Well," Dean pulled into a diner parking lot, "If he's thought about me, he's thought about you. How does that make you feel?"

Sam smiled and opened his door. "Flattered, haha."

* * *

A/N: I'd like to thank the reviewers who kicked by butt and reminded me to update this story.


	11. Chapter 11

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

XI

A/N: Thank you to those of you that reviewed, it always means a lot to me. This chapter was a particular pain in the rump, because I kept wanting to show little things, but couldn't get it to work without changing scenes and POV. Buuuuut I don't like to skip around all over the place.

Tons of thanks go to drkpoenyx for being my beta.

* * *

Castiel doesn't know what he's doing in the Winchesters' hotel room. He tells himself it's because he needs a quiet place to think; it's too cold outside, and he doesn't have anywhere else to go.

But the truth is, the cold has never bothered him before, and there are lots of places he could go. He could go to the top of the highest skyscraper, or stand in the sand by the coast. Hell, he could go to Thailand. True, it would put a drain on his energy, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities.

It concerns him how attached he's gotten to the Winchesters. He considers himself their guardian, and that's all well and good, but there's a part of it that makes him nervous. So he shoves it down, and tells himself that he's too busy to think.

But isn't that what he's here for? A quiet place to think?

He walks towards Dean's bed, the one farthest from the door. It surprises him that Dean would allow Sam to have the bed near the door; it was the one most likely to be attacked should someone break in. He thinks about it for longer than he should, until a part of him realizes that he's stalling.

So he takes another step towards Dean's bed, and realizes that the bathroom door is open and the light is on. He knows that no one is home, so it doesn't concern him. But when he looks in and sees his reflection in the mirror, it makes him pause.

He looks like a man.

Not even a particularly special man. Just a man, maybe smart, but maybe not. Possibly brave, or maybe a coward. Perhaps he looks kind, except sometimes he looks empty. Sometimes he feels empty.

This, in itself, should not be a concern. It should be _normal._

The problem is that spending time here on Earth with Dean and Sam has caused him to feel emotions he never wanted to. So when the emotions leave, he feels empty.

It concerns him that he wants those emotions back.

He walks all the way to the bed this time and sits down. The bed is made. He knows Dean doesn't allow maids or cleaners in the room; they might see something they aren't supposed to. Does that mean Dean made his bed? Maybe Sam made it while Dean grabbed coffee. Would that be weird or would it be brotherly? Or maybe, Sam was just tired of Dean's mess and decided to do it for him. Do unmade beds bother Sam?

Castiel thinks about it for a second, and then scoots back until he's sitting in the middle of the bed. He thinks about it some more, before he leans back and lies down on the bed.

It feels comfortable.

His eyebrows pull together as he frowns. He can't remember, is he supposed to feel comfort? Could he sit in the same position for years? He thinks he could before he met the brothers, but now he wonders if the discomfort will get to him. He wonders if maybe it's a bad sign.

When he realizes he's frowning it upsets him a little more. Since when was he so obvious? Since when did he just let his feelings show right on his face?

Okay, confusion was always something he'd shown, and so was his _don't-mess-with-me-because-I-am-fierce_ face, but when did he become an open book?

Angels are vastly superior in this way, because when you aren't in your vessel, everyone looks the same. No one looks hurt, or embarrassed, or frustrated.

To be fair, angels don't feel those things either. Castiel has felt them all. He wonders what he looked like. When he was hurt, did he look down and purse his lips the way Dean sometimes does? When he was embarrassed, did he do the things that Dean did? Did he shift his gaze away and bite the inside of his cheek? Did he lick his lips and did a faint red color creep across his cheeks? When he was frustrated… well, he's pretty sure he's never polished a gun, let alone with the fervor that Dean does when he's aggravated.

He doesn't think he does what Dean does, so that is a small relief. He wonders if he does other stuff though. He wonders if it's obvious that he is having feelings. That he is becoming more human.

He pushes aside the thought. He's not becoming human. It's black and white, angels, humans, there is no grey area. He is still an angel.

Just slightly looser.

Is that cause for alarm?

There's a small part of him that reminds himself that Sam and Dean like him just fine. All things considered, they probably like him more now than in the beginning.

Is it enough to be liked? Does that make it okay?

His stomach tightens and it annoys him, because it does the same thing every time he looks at Dean, or Dean yells at him, or Dean touches him, or Dean tells him things that he doesn't tell anyone else. So for a second, he sits up because he thinks Dean may be back. Since he finds he's still alone, he leans back down.

He wonders where they are. He could find them.

No. He came here to think, so he is going to do that.

He thinks about James. He wonders why James looks at him the way he does, or why he asks silly questions about his coat.

He wonders how much of himself James has seen…

… or _felt._

The thought manages to scare, frustrate, and excite him. He decides he doesn't need to think. It's stupid to lie down in Dean's bed, and what? Wait for him to get back?

He teleports outside. Why? Because he's an angel and he can.

It's slightly cold, and he tries not to think about it.

* * *

Dean broke into Christine Fecteau's house. Dean was a little surprised and angry to find an elderly German Shepherd waiting for them. What was it with dead people and their pets being left in the home? Sure, Christine had only been dead for two days, but shouldn't a relative, or friend, or shelter come and taken the dog? He looked around briefly before finding the dog's bowl full of still wet canned food. So someone was feeding the dog at least, just not staying home with it?

The dog followed him around, but otherwise stayed out of the way and didn't even bark. After a while he just sort of lay down and slept. It was hard to say why exactly, but the dog gave Dean the impression that he was disappointed in himself. Like maybe he knew his owner had been killed, in her own bed and he hadn't been able to save her.

Dean learned the dog's name when he found Christine's bedroom. It was done in shades of pink, but with yellow walls. There was a desk in the corner, piled high with vacation pamphlets and a planner with the date and time of Claire Campbell's funeral service. In the corner there was a picture of her, all blonde hair and long nails, with her dog at her side. It looked like it had been taken several years ago, her hair was shorter and her dog was younger. The picture frame sparkled with jewels and in big, loopy letters it said "Bailey and Me".

Bailey seemed like a stupid name for a German Shepherd. Bailey is a name for a goofy dog, and German Shepherds are anything but goofy.

Dean straightened and turned around to look towards her bed. Bailey raised his head and his tail thumped lightly against the ground. It took him a good while longer than a healthy dog would, but he managed to stand up and rest his chin on the unmade bed. Dean walked over and stroked the dog's head lightly.

Dean glanced towards the door of the bedroom.

James Rowley was standing there, head turned slightly away, looking at Dean out of the corners of his eyes.

"You know sneaking up on me isn't the way to prove that you're one of the good guys," Dean's eyes narrowed.

James rolled his blue eyes slightly, and then, almost too casually redirected. "Where's Sam?"

Dean looked away. "Back at the hotel," he said. Sam was still attempting to do research with Bobby.

"Good."

Dean's eyes widened as he scowled. He was alone with James? _Fuck. _He turned back towards the incubus with suspicion.

As though sensing his notion of distrust, James grimaced and shook his head. "I'm not here to jump you."

Dean didn't look like he believed him.

"Really Dean, I have a girl back home, remember?"

Dean shrugged, somewhat eased. "Still monogamous? I would have thought you'd have strayed by now."

James looked around and touched a scarf lying on top of a bureau. Finally he shrugged. "Lord knows I've been tempted."

Dean watched him. After a painful five minutes of watching James try to simultaneously disappear and introduce casual conversation, Dean finally decided to cut the bullshit. "James, what do want?"

The incubus sighed. "You have to understand, this goes against every fiber of my being. Not only am I trying to be helpful, but I'm trying to be helpful in a way that doesn't even benefit me! It's like… charity." James snarled slightly as he looked for the words.

Dean tried to laugh at him, but his words put him on edge. The hunter's feet shuffled slightly. He didn't need James' charity. He wasn't that pathetic.

James seemed to remember why he had come here, because he started speaking again. At first though, the words didn't make any sense. "You know how sometimes, you know something, but you don't know it like you think you do? Or like, maybe you know it in the back of your head, but for some reason it never makes it to the forefront? Just hanging out in your subconscious."

Dean totally turned his back on James. If the incubus was going to insist on being ambiguous, he wasn't going to bother listening. He could hear James swear softly.

"You know how sometimes you lie to yourself to make yourself feel better? Or, you think about something, but you avoid going into the details because you know it hurts?"

Dean gestured vaguely in the air. "Why don't you just spit it out?"

"I can't," James spat out bitterly.

"Why the hell not?"

"Well fuck. I can't just tell you! Sometimes, the journey is more important than the destination! Frodo could have just ridden that huge bird to Mordor, but what would anyone have learned?"

Dean whirled around. "Are you fuckin' high?"

"I should be. I'd have to be to come here and try to help you! It's like pulling teeth."

"Then why bother? Just leave. You aren't making any sense anyways!"

James took deep breaths, and for a second Dean saw weariness in James that he hadn't seen before. "I couldn't live with myself… not if I let a good man refuse to see the one chance at happiness he has left."

Dean shook his head slightly, as though willing James to leave. 'Good man'? Though it creeped him out slightly, he sat down on the bed. "What do you want?"

James smiled slightly. "Doesn't matter what I want. This is your story, not mine."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "And why can't you just tell me?"

"Because telling you doesn't make it true for you. Telling you… I can't just say it and make you believe it. I can't say it and make you trust it. I can't make you _feel_ it. It's not something you learn in a book or from someone like me for that matter."

Dean looked James up and down. "And you think I'm lying to myself?"

"You wouldn't be the first. Sometimes our minds like to play keep away. It gives us small details, like a smell or touch, but the big picture escapes us."

"You don't know me."

"No, I don't. Hell, I continue to surprise myself. So how can I know you, when I don't even know myself? I'm not an expert; I sure as hell don't know your life story. _And for fucks sake stop shaking your head_. I don't want to know. The question is do you know yourself?"

Dean shook his head and stood up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sneered at the incubus. "Why don't you just give it up, and tell me what you think you know."

"Why? Because it would be easier for you? Suck it up and figure it out for yourself."

"You know, you have a lot of nerve," Dean tried to push away the image of Castiel that came to mind. He didn't want to dwell on why his mind summoned the image now of all times. "You think this," he gestured widely, and could still see the image of Castiel clearly. The angel looked up at him with blue eyes. "Is easy for me? What would you know?"

James appeared ready to kill Dean at that moment, as if he was fully prepared to throw him down and throttle him. "What would I know? About fear? Gee, I don't know. I mean what could I possibly know about taking a chance? What could I know about the risk of trying something foreign? Of putting it all on the line? To go against what is expected of you, to go against what others would have you do, to go against your own ideal of yourself? You're right! What the fuck would I know? After all, it's not like I'm putting it all on the line for some girl I met in bookstore. If you have the opportunity, the chance, for something, _anything_, greater than you thought possible, isn't it_ worth_ it? Don't you owe it to yourself?

You know Dean, people have called me a lot of things, but I've never been accused of being a coward."

* * *

A/N: Not sure how I feel about the second half, because it was hard for me to get in Dean's head. In my defense, I pulled an all nighter to write this.

When you review, it makes me happy. Even though it's totally unnecessary, I keep a copy of every single one in my email. Thanks you guys!


	12. Chapter 12

Seeing Castiel's Bad Side

XII

A/N: *Ahem* Keep those reviews coming! ^/^

These were the songs that inspired this chapter: Feels Like the End by Shane Alexander, Come Here Boy by Imogen, and Back to You version by Brett Anderson. Cookies if you can find the bisexual singer, ;).

There are a lot of breaks in this chapter, but I hope you guys don't mind. I'm also changed tense during the different scenes, but oh well. This chapter also connects with chapter one, so you may want to reread/skim that. Also, this is rated M for mature- I'm looking at you kids!

Tons of thanks go to drkphoenyx for being my beta.

* * *

It's amazing how a slut can yell a few jumbled lines and suddenly sleep becomes impossible. Dean has been in bed for over three hours, and in that time he's only gotten farther and farther from sleep. He keeps replaying the day's events, but no matter how many times he tells himself that what James said doesn't matter, he knows it isn't true. He knows James managed to get an ounce of truth between the nonsense.

Dean doesn't know which is scarier, that there is a hidden side of him or that James knows about it.

He knows which _pisses_ him off more, having a certain deviant hussy in his head isn't fun.

It takes him a second to realize that there's a flip side to the statement and that, in general, he really doesn't mind deviant hussies in his mind.

He groans and pauses. He listens to see if there's a change in the rhythm of Sam's breathing. When it's steady and slow and he's content that he hasn't woken Sam, he turns over onto his stomach and closes his eyes. He breaths deeply, and it's almost instantly relaxing.

And then every part of him becomes wide awake again. He's been trained, it's been drilled into him, that the _slightest_ change can never be ignored. The smell of his bed has changed. He pushes his nose into the sheet and breathes again. It smells faintly off, mostly like Dean, but a little different too. It smells musky, yet earthier, than Dean's natural smell. In a weird way, it compliments the spicy, sweet smell that Dean exudes. Despite the fact that he never cooks, Dean always smells like some exotic dish.

Dean's eyes flicker back and forth. He racks his brain. He can't remember the smell. He knows it isn't James; He smells like cigarettes and tea.

Alright, now he wants to puke. He knows what James smells like?

Dean stands up and analyzes the room. The lights are turned off, but the moon shines just slightly through the curtains and it's enough so that he can start at the door and inspect the room step by step. He starts at the lamp, then the table, the chairs. He inspects all of it and finds that nothing is out of place. Sleep becomes impossible, so he sits at the small table and mentally goes over the case.

Again and again…

* * *

"Yoohoo! Young man!"

Dean slows down and looks behind himself. There's no one there so he concludes that the short, elderly woman hobbling towards him in a bathrobe is talking to him. There's a small dog pulling in front of her. He cringes and runs a hand through his hair. "Hi!" He tries to appear cheery, and unassuming.

She stops at the end of Christine's driveway and looks Dean up and down. "Were you a friend of Christine's?"

"Yes, yes I was," he smiles and nods his head. He's back at her house, about to do another search—one that hopefully won't be interrupted by an incubus.

"Such a tragedy. She was such a nice girl. Can't believe she's dead!" The woman frowns and looks away.

Dean stops smiling. In hindsight, smiling was probably not a great reaction if you're pretending your friend just died.

"Are you going to take Bailey?" She asks it innocently enough, but Dean suspects she's going to give him a hard time when he turns her down.

"I'm not really a dog person." _Or any-living-creature person._

"Well he's old! He's in pain! He has just lost his mommy and now nobody wants him. You know her relatives don't want him because they have kids, or are allergic. Excuses, excuses."

Dean looks at the Pomeranian about to strangle itself by pulling at the leash. She must have caught him looking because she comes up with her own excuse.

"Oh, Princess here doesn't like other dogs. It wouldn't be fair to Bailey to ask him to put up with an angry Princess," she chuckled.

Dean doesn't think her excuse for not taking the dog is much better.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I really can't take him. I work a lot; I spend a lot of time on the road. I'm sure someone else will take him." Dean raises his hands and takes a little step back, as though to distant himself from the problem as much as possible. He turns to head inside the house.

"You know he's going to die soon?"

Dean groans and turns around. The old woman smiles, tight and small.

"Bailey isn't a puppy. He hasn't got a lot of time left." She even goes so far as to bat her eyelashes, as though she can sway him to do it as a personal favor for her. "It's not fair to the poor dog."

Dean bites his cheek and runs a hand through his hair.

* * *

"Is that Christine's dog?" Sam wrinkled his nose and looked down at the German Shepherd by his brother.

"Sammy, Bailey. Bailey, Sammy. Try and get along you two, you'll be sharing a bed," Dean mumbled.

Sam stood up and walked over to the dog whose tail thumped against Dean's leg. "Seriously, why did you bring him here?"

Dean unloaded a bag of dog food onto the small table in their motel room, and it groaned beneath the weight. He unclipped Bailey's leash and shrugged off his coat. "No one else wanted him. Besides, I always wanted a dog."

Sam sat down on the floor and scratched Bailey's chin. "You did?"

Dean opened the dog food and looked around for a bowl. He grabbed a takeout container instead and used his hand to scoop some kibble onto it. "Well yeah, when mom was alive."

Sam frowned at the loose dog hair that clung to his hand. "Why didn't we have one?"

"Dad said he would get me one when I could be more responsible, but then mom died and we went on the road." Everyone else in the neighborhood had had a dog.

Bailey laid down beside Sam and waited for Dean to put the kibble on the floor. Sam had wanted a dog at one point too, but he was always shot down. It was just another thing hunters didn't have, just another thing his father didn't allow, and just another thing that his older brother would tell him to shut up about. "What kind?"

Dean had dropped the kibble and walked into the bathroom to splash water on his face. It bought him a few moments of thought. For his fourth birthday his mom had bought him a book of dog breeds. He had always liked the bird dogs, the retrievers, setters, and spaniels. "I don't know a Golden Retriever, or maybe an Irish Setter."

Sam nodded and stood back up. "Dude, you need to get this dog a brush. He sheds like crazy."

Dean groaned. "Why don't you go get him a brush when you pick up dinner?"

Sam scoffed, but agreed to get dinner. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"

"I'm sure. That old lady gave me a headache. Just grab me a burger or something, alright?"

Sam nodded and headed out the door, keys in hand. Dean sighed and flopped backwards onto his bed. He breathed for a few minutes, willing himself to sleep. He felt the bed dip beside him and he reached out a hand to pat the old dog. Bailey panted in his face for a second before curling up beside the hunter.

Dean hadn't found anything at Christine's place. Zip, zero, nada. He clenched his fist into the dog's fur, but then loosened it as he relaxed. It wasn't his fault she died, it wasn't. It was an enemy that they didn't know anything about; there was no way for him to have prevented this. It wasn't his fault. He tried to focus on something else to distract himself.

He could still smell the foreign scent on his sheets. Something like sandalwood, he decided. It was faint now, and he wouldn't have known it was there if he hadn't been looking for it. He groaned and moved his head side to side, trying to work out a knot in his neck. He felt the relief flow over his shoulders, and then the sensation got oddly hot. It worked its way over his biceps, and then backtracked to spread over his biceps. It both stirred and calmed him.

He bit his cheek and sat up. Castiel was standing by his bed, his head tilted and his brows furrowed at the thing beside Dean.

Dean growled slightly and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Some guard dog you make," he mumbled at Bailey. The dog's tail thumped again, reassuringly brushing against Dean. Dean prepared for the questions, formulating his answer as to why Bailey was here, what he was going to do with him, that sort of stuff. He looked up at the angel.

Castiel was patting Bailey on the head, in what Dean doubted was actually a pleasant stroke. It wasn't the way a dog liked to be patted, more the way a child greets a dog. Castiel was all eye contact, an unsure hand coming down on top of the dog's head and gliding back. Bailey huffed and licked Castiel's hand. The angel frowned and stared at the dog.

Dean felt like laughing in an incredulous way. Cas was such a child. The hunter's smile froze slightly as he considered the angel.

"Cas, you've met dogs before, right?"

Then angel's blue eyes snapped up to meet Dean's green ones. "Yes, but they weren't domesticated yet."

Dean's smile fell, and he looked at Cas out of the corners of his eyes. "Well, knock yourself out."

The angel looked back at the dog and sat on Dean's bed, on the other side of the dog where Dean could clearly see him. Castiel reached out with both hands to cup the dog's face, and then seemed to systematically try different strokes and scratches on different parts of the dog.

Dean watched the smile come onto Cas' face. It was slightly alien and it bothered Dean in a way he couldn't understand. He rolled his eyes and turned away from Cas and the dumb dog. He narrowed his eyes and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand.

"Cas, I have a headache and I'm tired. Do you need something?" Dean tapped his foot slightly.

"Do you want me to get rid of your headache?"

"What?" Dean's foot stopped tapping.

"Your headache, do you want me to make it stop?" Castiel stood up and walked in front of Dean, holding up two fingers.

"This isn't going to make me worse, right? Like it's not going to take away my headache and give me the flu instead?"

Castiel frowned, "Of course not."

Dean laughed dryly, "It's just, in my experience, your mojo never works out well for me. You zap me to the past and end up giving me constipation too."

"Dean, getting rid of a headache isn't nearly as difficult as altering time and reality."

The angel said it with such seriousness and sincerity that the hunter just laughed and nodded at him. Castiel stepped a little closer and it was nearly unsettling the way he stood between Dean's legs, but then his fingertips were pressed to Dean's forehead and the hunter found it difficult to be troubled about anything. It was as though the heat that Dean felt in his arms was a part of Castiel, and the angel was delivering it right to the source of his pain. Soothing his headache and making sleep seem like an actual possibility tonight.

The angel's hand slipped down his face, the fingertips just grazing his nose and lips. Dean hung his head and took a deep breath. "Mmmmn…" It felt fantastic.

"You're making yourself sick."

Dean pursed his lips and looked up. Castiel's eyes managed to look just as cerulean even with his face hidden partially in shadow. "Yeah? How so?"

"Holding it all in isn't doing you any favors."

"Hah," Dean shook his head. "And what do you suggest?"

"Let it out." Castiel's voice took on a needy, drawn out tone that was unusual for him.

"I don't have anything to say." Dean stood up abruptly and as Castiel stumbled back he realized how close they had been.

"Are you mad at me?"

"What? No! Why would I be mad at you?" Dean threw up his hands and turned around. Bailey whimpered slightly and Dean glared at the dog.

"I don't know. Because I didn't tell you about the incubi right away?" Castiel glanced away. "Because I haven't been any help in finding this incubus? If I was better, maybe Christine wouldn't have died." Dean shook his head. No, Castiel had it all wrong, but the angel continued. "Maybe you've sensed my doubt and you don't think you can trust me anymore? I'm sorry. I'm sor-"

Dean stepped forward and grabbed Castiel's face with both his hands, his wide palms spread out over Castiel's cheeks and jaw, his thumb grazing the corner of Castiel's mouth. "What do you want from me?" Dean choked on the words.

"The truth. Stop lying to me," Castiel said. He was oddly motionless, but Dean could feel those lips move as the angel spoke.

Dean let his head fall forward. His nose grazed the angel's cheek. His heart raced. He knew his hands were shaking and not gentle on Castiel's face, but he couldn't bring himself to let go.

Castiel's lips moved again, "I'm sor-"

Dean felt those lips move, felt them move underneath his own as he pushed his lips firmly down on the angel's. Castiel's lips stilled, slightly parted, and as Dean pulled back he felt like dying. Felt like maybe if he could be torn into a million pieces and put back together he would somehow be better. Better than this. Better than fucked up.

Dean kept his eyes closed, his forehead resting against the angel's. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. "Don't make me say it. Please don't make me say it, Cas." A part of Dean told him it was already too late, that he could never take it back. It told him to give it up and give in.

Dean brushed his lips over the angel's. He made himself loosen his grip, even though he desperately felt like holding on as tight as possible. He thought about the way Castiel's lips felt, the way the stubble over his upper lip felt as Dean tilted his head. He thought about the way his nose brushed against Castiel's cheek, the way the muscles in his jaw tense and relaxed underneath his hands. He thought about it so that he would remember it. Remember the way Castiel's chest brushed his own as the angel breathed, the way he smelled like sandalwood and earth.

Dean couldn't think when Castiel pressed his lips back and put his hands on Dean's hips.

* * *

A/N: And that's what I came up with folks. I was honestly going to do it another way, but I like how it turned out. Please review! It means a lot to me.

If you feel cheated by the kiss scene, tough! My first kiss didn't have tongue, and Castiel and Dean's first kiss isn't going to have tongue either!

Dean still has a lot he needs to figure out, and Cas has some growing up to do too.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII

A/N: I have a lot of excuses for why it took me so long to update, but excuses, excuses!

Remember, this is rated M for Mature! Children beware!

* * *

Castiel pulled back, his eyes looking away from Dean. Dean could sense Castiel's apprehension, but before he could tell the angel to wait, Castiel was gone. Dean stood frozen, the warmth that had been comforting and intoxicating before, was leaving almost as quickly as its source.

Bailey whined slightly and it was enough to snap Dean out of his stupor. He swallowed and looked around the dim hotel room. He felt sick, like he was going to vomit, and he reached for the small trashcan and sat on the edge of his bed. With his eyes closed, he tried to reassure himself. He felt like his brain was tearing itself apart as he thought of a million different thoughts at once. There were so many things he needed to say to Castiel, so many things he didn't know how to say.

And then there were questions. Questions he needed to ask himself and questions that he had for Castiel.

Dean tried to slow down his racing thoughts. He tried to think of them slowly, rationally. The first question that comes to mind isn't about his sexual orientation, or why he did what he did, or if he liked it.

It's why did Castiel kiss back?

Hell, why did Castiel even allow it in the first place? It's not like the angel couldn't stop him and it's not as though the angel didn't see it coming. What with the first kiss being a warning and all. Dean figured that the first kiss probably surprised Castiel, so much so that he didn't know what to do. Hell, it sure shocked Dean. The second one though, it seemed to drag on for minutes. It wasn't as though Castiel was surprised into putting his hands on Dean, pushing his lips back.

Dean wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and then pushed it messily through his hair. Maybe he had just imagined Castiel's response; maybe it was all in his head.

Although it's pretty damn hard to mistake pulling away, as Castiel should have done, with kissing back, which is what Dean is sure he did. If it had just been the barest of kisses, like Dean had intended, then maybe he could make himself forget it. When Castiel grabbed his hips, turned his head, and kissed Dean's bottom lip it was seared into Dean's brain. Dean doubted he could forget the way Castiel's nose grazed his cheek when he pulled back, let alone the entire kiss.

It wasn't the best kiss Dean had ever received, not by a long shot. It was chaste and not at all sultry. While it had seemed like time crept by slowly during the kiss, he realized now that it could only have been a few seconds, moments. Not nearly enough time for sparks to fly. Hell, barely enough time to make it memorable at all. Except that it was his first gay kiss.

He protests the thought while he reaches for the trashcan again. It's not really a gay kiss when you're not gay, and Castiel isn't a man so much as a genderless being in a male vessel.

He's able to push those thoughts away because they're too stupid to think about now. He should be more concerned with the fact that he kissed a brother, a partner in crime, a friend.

It's the worry that maybe he's lost one of his only friends that makes him feel the sickest.

He thinks he must be hallucinating when his biceps grow warm. There is no way that Castiel left so quickly, only to return. That wasn't the way Castiel operated. Dean looked up, shocked, as the angel appeared in front of him.

"You're back?"

Castiel's lips are pursed and his eyebrows are drawn. Combined with the wide blue eyes and the stiff shoulders, he couldn't have looked more defensive if he tried. "I can't figure this out on my own."

Dean stands up and the trashcan tips over. He tries to say he didn't mean it, that it was an accident, but he knows Castiel isn't that naïve. He stands still, and while he considers moving around to take the edge off. He's a little afraid that Castiel will read too much into his body language and he's very afraid that he'll miss something if he takes his eyes off the angel's face for even a second.

"Why did you do it?" Castiel's eyes dart away quickly and then back.

"Do what?" Dean asks. He knows damn well what, and Castiel knows he knows it too. His voice shakes slightly as he asks.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Dean takes a deep breath and looks away. "Look, Cas," for the first time the nickname sounds foreign to him, and he wonders if Castiel thinks it means something, "Sam is going to be back any second, so maybe we shouldn't do this now." Maybe they shouldn't do it at all.

Castiel ignores him. "Not once, but twice. Why?"

"You wanted something honest didn't you?" Dean flinches after he yells, wishing he hadn't raised his voice. The volume surprises him almost as much as his choice of words does. That was not what he wanted to say.

"I thought you hated me."

Dean shakes his head. Castiel isn't the fuckup, Dean is. "It didn't mean anything."

The silence should be unbearable, but it doesn't really feel any different than when they are talking. Dean would prefer the silence if it wasn't for Castiel analyzing him. The blue eyes were still wide and flickered around quickly.

"It's different now," the angel says.

Dean looks up at him. His eyes are downcast and he looks away quickly. "Nothing has changed. We're still the same—"

"No we aren't." Castiel's eyes are wet, and if it wasn't impossible Dean would think the angel was going to cry. "The way you look at me is different. The way you feel about me has changed."

Dean knows he should argue, but he can't. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns away. He runs both his hands through his hair and keeps them there like he's prepared to plug his ears if he hears something he doesn't want to. Oh god, when did it change? Why did it change?

"I've changed." Castiel takes a step towards Dean. Dean throws his hands down and walks farther away. He doesn't usually back down from a confrontation, it isn't macho, but in these circumstances running away seems like a reasonable option.

"I feel like I'm falling. I don't know what I am anymore."

Dean knows Castiel doesn't mean 'falling' as in 'falling in love.' He means 'falling' as in 'falling from heaven,' as in clipping his wings and becoming human. When Dean turns around the angel is looking away, and it's not a sign of deceit but one of shame. Shame is a very human emotion. It's one that Dean is quite familiar with.

"Sometimes, I don't even recognize myself," whispers Dean.

* * *

James clicked his tongue slightly as he turned a page in his book. His eyes glanced quickly over the page, not reading every word, but remembering most of them. He turned another page, and then another. He closed his eyes briefly.

His cellphone rang. He frowned at the blocked number before answering. "Hello?"

"You said it was important," a woman's voice said.

"Marika?" James reached for a piece of paper and a pen. "I'm surprised you called me back."

"I'm surprised you called me in the first place… I thought if we never spoke again it would be too soon."

"Yes well, I'm in a bit of a bind and you're the only succubus that owes me a favor so…" Favor was a bit of an understatement, but James wasn't about to piss her off.

"A bind, eh? That wouldn't be the two hunters in your backyard would it?"

James ignored the pleased tone in her voice and froze at the statement. His mouth parted slightly and his forehead wrinkled. He looked around, and swallowed. "Do you know where I am?" He stood up quickly, his office chair tipping backwards and crashing on the floor. "Answer me!"

"You're in New Hampshire," Marika's voice was dead, the pitch carefully controlled.

"How do you know that? Who told you?" James ran from his office, not bothering to lock it. He flipped light switches as he went, his steps echoing throughout the library.

"Byron told me."

"Who told him?" James punched in the code to turn on the security system. He flung open the door and stepped outside, locking the doors quickly as he went.

"I don't know. Why? Is Byron not supposed to know?" Odd really, how her voice could be so flat even while asking a question.

"Nobody knows. I didn't tell anyone." James ran to his car, looking around nervously as he went.

"You must have told someone."

James' mind was racing. He had a new home, a new name, a new face… He sat in his car, his eyes wide. "I told no one. No one at all."

There was silence for a moment. It was the kind of silence that screams loudly and echoes throughout your head.

"James, someone has eyes on you. Byron is in France, it can't be him."

And then James remembered the first time the hunters and the angel had crossed paths with him. Not by accident, no, they had come to the library for answers. Sam had looked at him, eyes narrowed, and told him that Claire had been murdered. She had been a patron of the library, and James had met her, once, briefly, but still, he _knew_ her.

For a terrifying moment James considered that maybe the rogue incubus knew this. Maybe he had targeted her in part because James knew her.

James peeled out of the parking lot. Anyone who was watching him would know where he lived. They would know about his girlfriend, and it would be easy, so easy, for an incubus to change forms and imitate him. And she, she would never know the difference, simply lulled into…

He blew through a red light with no one around to see it. "What's Byron's number?"

"I don't know."

"Marika!" James gripped the steering wheel with one hand until his knuckles turned white.

"I honestly don't know. He calls every other decade, when he wants to rehash the good old days. He mentioned you, but I just assumed you were talking. He always calls from a different number, a throwaway phone. He's paranoid, you know that."

James could hear a muffled noise in the background, a man speaking.

"I have to go James," Marika sighed softly.

James sneered and hung up on her. He had intended to ask her about violent incubi, about incubi who were killing or close to it. He had learned more in the past ten minutes than he and the hunters had learned in the days that they had been looking.

He swerved into his driveway, slamming on the brakes, and just barely stopping before the garage. He ran from his car to the steps of his house and threw open the door. It disturbed him to find that the door was unlocked.

"Babe, is something wrong?"

James stopped in the doorway, his heart pounding. He looked to where the voice was coming from. He looked at the only woman that called him babe, and could finally feel the panic leaving his body.

"Is everything okay?" She asked again.

He crossed the room, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her shoulder.

* * *

A/N: This is shorter than most chapters, but I already have the rough draft done for the next one. I'm sorry I don't update for months at a time, but I appreciate every comment, fav, and watch I get.

If you are still hanging in there, thanks. You guys rock.

I miss Castiel.


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